Something More
by PaperHeart382
Summary: Growing up with as many brothers as fingers, she was used to being a sister all the time. When they all go off to the Airborne, she decides to tag along as a medical personnel, but when she befriends a Band of Brothers, things become a little complicated
1. Miss Oregon

**Author's Note: **This is my first story in the 'real world' scenario, so go easy on me, please. When I'm writing this, I'm (as most girls are) thinking of the characters in Band of Brothers, and not the real men. Don't get me wrong, what the real men did was AMAZING, but you know a girl can't resist a star in uniform ;) A few possible pairings will be hinted at through out the story, but in the end I'll need your help deciding the final pair. Please review C:

**Disclaimer: I do not own nor claim to own Band of Brothers or any of the real men in Easy Company.**

* * *

"Papa? Papa, can I talk to you…? It's important."

She looked at the man sitting at the table, cleaning his shot gun. He was getting on in years, and looked to be about fifty five or sixty. His red hair was going gray, giving him a more 'dignified' look as her mother had so often put it. His once brilliant green eyes were slowly becoming duller each day, but his smile wrinkles were increasing regularly.

"Papa? It's important," she asked again. This time he pat the seat next to him, motioning for her to sit down. She did, but she still didn't get a response from the elderly man.

"Papa, I want to take my medical abilities to the war."

He dropped his gun and stared at his little girl without emotion. She stared back into his eyes, showing him she was fully and completely serious. Her mother walked into the room, and just as quickly left after seeing the look on both their faces, and knowing perfectly well what they were discussing. Her little girl was using the same look when she asked her to talk to her papa about it earlier that week.

"You're telling me," he finally began. "That you want to leave your job at the hospital to help some _dog_ with a heart ache? Sweetheart, you're this town's medical miracle! What are we gonna do when someone needs something done around here? And for crying out loud, who is poor little Benjamin going to annoy day in and day out? ME?"

She laughed at his reaction. He didn't have a single objection to her being a woman in the army; he just didn't want her little friend bothering him all day instead of her.

"Papa, I'm absolutely serious. I want to join the Airborne, like all my other brothers. I'm not a little girl, you know. I can even drink now! Well, not that I can hold my liquor," she laughed. "But, I'm of age and I intend to help my country. Please, papa, let me join the Airborne. Not as a soldier, but as a medical person… thing. You know I can't put a gun to a deer's head for the life of me, but raccoons are a different matter so I don't want to hear any of that 'but you shoot 'coons all the time!' stuff, okay? I'm not joining to kill, I'm joining to help. Please understand me, papa… I can't let my brothers go at this alone. I need to be with them!"

And that was the end of that.

A father could be described at best as having nerves of steel, a will of iron, and a heart of pudding for their little girl.

* * *

They all stared at her. Her hair, her face, her bag… Everything. She guessed it was to be expected, though. Nurses sure as heck didn't wear their hair like this, and normal women didn't dress like this. Not that her hair was cut and styled like a man, it was just shorter, and cut in a bob. The barber cut it about two inches above her shoulders, and she swears she never saw so much hair hit the floor. The bus she was on was something she had never seen before, either. There were men left and right, joking, smoking, playing cards, you name it. She had grown up with many brothers, but her ma never allowed any smoking in the house.

She cast her gaze out the window, playing with her short locks and longing for that gun range to take away the silence that hung around her. Nobody had talked to her at all. Not a 'hello', not a 'may I sit here?' not even an inappropriate comment. She knew no one on the bus, talked to no one, and longed for a familiar face. She wanted to talk. She wanted a friend to talk to that she could joke with. Even laugh with at her own stupidity would be fine as long as she knew them. Ten brothers, eleven enlistments into the paratroopers, and not one of the guys on the bus was a Finnegan. Not one!

"Hey, lady, you a nurse?" a voice asked from beside her. God seemed to answer her in the weirdest ways these days.

She turned her head from the window and looked up, seeing a pretty scrawny looking guy, about twenty three years old or so, that had taken the seat next to her.

"Uh, no," she replied gently, her voice a little crackly from not speaking for three hours.

"Secretary or something then?"

"No," her voice became a little clearer this time.

He looked at her with a weird look on his face. She wasn't a nurse, she wasn't a secretary, and he was just about out of guesses. She smiled at him and just knew that this would be entertaining.

"Cook?"

"Nope,"

"Laundry lady?"

"Wrong again," she said, shifting to a more comfortable position.

"Just a girl from town who needed a ride?"

She looked at him and grinned, knowing he would honest to goodness never guess it right. Of course, he took that as a yes and began bragging about how he was going to become a paratrooper and whatnot. She smiled and nodded at the appropriate times, just like she had learned with her brothers back home when her mother began to rant about something. Apparently he was from San Francisco, California, and his name was Joseph Liebgott, but Joe for short.

"You're from somewhere around Camp Toccoa, right?" he asked. She looked at him and shook her head, no.

"You really aren't a lucky guesser today, are you, Joe?" she laughed. "I'm from Oregon."

"No shit–! I mean… Wow, really? What are you doing out all the way out here?"

"All of my brothers joined the paratroopers, so I'm here to help them out as much as I can," her smile widened.

"How many brothers you got?"

She paused a moment before answering, thinking it over in her head before saying anything. It wasn't that she was ashamed of her family; she wasn't fond of being pitied and frowned upon by others for being the near youngest.

"I have nine older brothers, and one kid brother," she said, heaving a heavy sigh.

"Jesus Christ! Ten of them? How the hell did you survive?!"

"Punching, kicking, food wars, football tackling, spider nests in socks, you know, sissy stuff," she said sarcastically. Joe smiled at her, knowing he had found the right gal to talk to.

An hour later found both of them holding cards with a few other men, and a giant pile of random objects in the middle of them. The men had introduced themselves as Warren 'Skip' Muck, Alex Penkala, and Floyd Talbert. For the third time, she reorganized her cards, trying to get a better look of what she was getting herself into. Joe watched her and smiled. He knew she really hadn't got a clue of what she was doing. The other men were too busy smoking to see the twinkle playing in her eyes.

"Ummm, Joe? What does this mean?" she asked innocently, showing him her cards. His mouth dropped open as he saw her cards.

"It means you won," he said, throwing her cards down on the seat, revealing her hand to be a five of a kind. The men all looked from the cards, to her, and back to the cards again.

"Luck bastar – Uh, nevermind." Skip corrected himself. She stifled a soft laugh as she went to collect her winnings from the seat.

Four packs of smokes, two dollars, a pack of gum, and a lighter. She smiled thinking of how proud her brother would be when she found out that she single-handedly kicked five paratrooper-to-be's asses' in poker.

"What in the-?!" Alex gaped.

"….Don't even smoke!" Floyd muttered.

"Oh," she chucked the pack of gum at him and smiled shyly. "Don't be upset, Floyd! My older brothers smoke, so it's all okay. They won't go to waste, I promise."

He just rolled his eyes at her and stuffed the gum in his pocket before starting up another game of poker, but this time banning her from playing. She sat in silence for the better half of the ride, giggling every now and then at something one of the men had said or done. It felt almost as if she were with her brothers again, except she wasn't being tackled to the ground or having to fight for her food, which she had to admit was a very welcomed change.

"So," Floyd looked up from the game and stole a glance at her. "What are you doing all the way out here, Miss Oregon? You're sure a long way from home, huh? Do your mom and dad know that you're not home?"

"I just asked her that." Joe firmly stated.

She continued to answer anyways, seeing them not as strangers anymore but friends. "I'm here for my brothers. They've never all been away from home before, and I knew they would miss me so I decided to tag along and help them out in the Airborne. And I know what you're thinking, 'Cooking can't kill a Jap or a Kraut!' well sir, I must inform you that you have never tried my cooking before. But unfortunately, I left my frying pan back in Oregon, so I guess I'm just going to be useless in this war."

The men around her chuckled as she reinforced the stereotype of a woman: nothing more than a house maid and certainly not a soldier.

"So your mom taught you how to cook?" Alex asked.

She laughed as she realized what he was getting at, and shook her head.

"My sister-in-law taught me. So you can guess why I don't go over for dinner all that much!"

A conversation of her life back home seemed to unfold during the last half hour on the bus. All of them were cracking jokes left and right, and no group was laughing louder or harder than hers. They were all talking about how horrible the meals at the camp were going to be when Skip said something about her being the master cook, to which she replied he better not jinx it, earning another hard laugh from the men around her. It seemed like only five minutes after they had started talking when the bus stopped. After they had grabbed their bags and stepped off the bus, it turned into complete chaos. About eleven other buses filled with men had arrived ahead of them, and all of them had no idea where they were going or what they were doing. In the process of attempting to find out what was going to happen next, the group of men lost their girl in the roaring crowd of fresh recruits.

"Where did…Oh, shit! What was her name again?" Skip asked, looking around wildly.

Then it hit them. They never learned her name. After all they had learned about her and her life, she never once told them her name. It felt like they had known her since childhood, and with all that joking around and talking someone might suspect that at least two of them were childhood friends, but they didn't even catch her name. Not a last name, a first name, middle name, and not even a nickname. All they knew was that she was here to help her brothers, and that she was from Oregon. At this point they were all tempted to call out the first girl's name that popped into their head in hopes it would be hers, but before any of them could have a second thought, they were being divided into companies by uniformed officers.

As fate would have it, the men on that bus were put into the same company, Easy Company, though not all of them were in the same platoon. They seldom talked about the bus ride here, although they all began to agree that it was the best part of this whole camp. Captain Sobel seemed to make all of them agree to that after their first day there. And what became of the girl on the bus, or Miss Oregon, as Floyd had called her, was a complete mystery.

By the end of the second week, a few of the men had heard about this chatty, sweet, young thing from the group of men that had become her friends and had their own depictions of her and what she _really_ looked like. Donald Malarkey, or Malark, had an image of her so glued into his mind that no matter how many times Skip and Alex tried to convince him she was _not_ an Irish woman with soft curls of deep red, and she _did_ have freckles, andthat her eyes were certainly not green _or_ blue, it would not change a thing to him. In reality her hair was actually straight, short, and a dark strawberry blonde, and her eyes were in fact very bright grey, something all of the men were completely sure of (except Malarkey), and they were also very sure that she was nowhere to be found in all of Camp Toccoa. Now, George Luz on the other hand was absolutely convinced that she was secretly there to be a trooper, had cut her hair and stopped shaving her legs, and was in the room with them that very moment. Of course, Joe would smack him over the head after he said anything remotely similar to that and would tell him the shut the hell up. And as for Eugene Roe, although he never said anything about it, he had an image of Rita Hayworth stuck in his mind whenever they started talking about 'Miss Oregon' for some strange reason.

* * *

**Okay, well that's it! I'm going to work on the next chapter, and hopefully it'll be up soon. Please review! C:**


	2. Two Face

**Author's Note:** Sorry this took a while... I had to ban myself from writing because I was becoming to obsessed, and then I woke up really late today and had to get my other stuff and exercises out of the way. But it's out now! And I'm having the worst time deciding on the final pair. I've got multiple ideas, but... I can't decide. So, I've decided that the final pair is up to you to decide :) You can vote in a review or PM, it doesn't matter. Whoever gets the most votes wins and shall be the final pair. And by pair I mean guy/girl. And by girl I mean her. And by her I mean what's-her-bucket in the story. C:

I promise the next story will be longer and more detailed.... With more about 'her' in it, as well!

[edit] 06/17/09  
_I made a boo-boo. A HUGE boo-boo. I forgot to go over the whole story again and thought I had already used the name 'Clifford', so I used 'Mac' instead. Genius April. She should get an award for this. _

_And then I misspelled Christenson's name. GENIUS. Genius in the making, I swear..._

And thank you SO much for all your reviews, favouriting, and alerts! I never thought my story would get all that much attention... You guys keep me going! If I'm ever behind schedule on my next publish date that I tell you, feel free to bug me with complaints, ideas, and/or praise. I won't mind C:

**Disclaimer:** **I do not own nor claim to own Band or Brothers or the real men of Easy Company.** I only own 'her' and all of her family.

* * *

She wanted to see them. She _needed_ to see them. She wondered why they hadn't found her yet. Maybe she misjudged them, and they didn't like her as much as she thought they had. Maybe they didn't want to see her, or maybe they didn't have the time to. But her brothers would come and bug her every now and then, so they couldn't be _that_ swamped with training, could they? Then again, Clifford, her third eldest brother had been involved in the military since before the war, and he never visited her.

Her days seemed to go as slow as a sloth. When people talked to her, she was never fully there. She would just nod her head at what seemed to be the appropriate times, and go on with her work. Right now, it was mainly paper filing and check-ups that filled her days, and an occasionally a plea from a nurse who wanted to spend her time with her beau that had a pass or snuck out _just so he could be with her_. Today was one of those days where the good person inside of her could not say no to a sad face, and thus she was stuck doing the nurse's paper work. Of course, the nurse had conveniently forgotten just how much paperwork needed to be filed, so when she walked into the file room, she was absolutely overwhelmed by the masses and stacks of paper that were scattered everywhere.

After she had finished filing her fifth stack of papers, the door swung open and one of the doctors marched in with a very stern look on his face.

"Where in God's name is Ethel?" he asked rather loudly. She jumped a little at his voice and dropped the stack of papers she was holding, sending them flying in the air.

"Oh, um, she called in sick and asked me to cover for her," she replied gently, "And then she went home. I think, at least. Some officer came and picked her up around nine o'clock this morning, and I haven't seen her since, Doctor Martin. Why do you ask?"

"She had a lunch date with me. And why is this room a complete mess?! We do not pay you to sulk around and take on other nurses duties, Doctor Jann. Yet here you are, standing in the middle of a pile of papers looking like you just ate a damn elephant! Doctor Anne, if you are not sent home for being an incompetent ass, I will _hang_ myself!"

"Actually, I'm not a doctor, and my name isn't Jann, or Anne, it's-"

But she was cut off by the slamming of the door. She sighed wearily and began picking up the papers she had dropped upon the arrival of the doctor. What had that been all about? Ethel had never mentioned anything going on with Doctor Martin before, let alone Doctor Martin himself! She bet she knew why now.

"That man is a period just waiting to happen," she muttered.

Things in that small file room were absolutely terrible. There were coffee mugs knocked over onto papers, leftover sandwiches, a few stray shoes, and a terribly large, lacy article of female clothing about a foot away from a man's tie. Aside from that, there were papers strewn everywhere and in every nook and cranny, even under the leg of the desk in the room. She frowned as she finally realized why Ethel had _really_ ditched work. Doctor Martin was someone you could only have so much of before exploding. Though, in Ethel's case that was seldom the problem. She was a very tolerant woman, seeing as how she usually gets the bloody nose and the 'Ow-my-wrist-hurts-like-hell-and-I-need-a-nurse-to-fix-me' and the sprained ankle cases from men who whine like babies, and she was possibly the only person in the whole hospital who was able to work with Doctor Martin without complaint.

But who in their right mind would want to have to organize all of this? She knew she sure as heck wasn't a person eligible for the category of someone who liked to clean. She unfortunately saw that if she didn't fix it all up, no one else would. Heck, they'd probably forget more than a certain article of clothing and tie than clean the room and file the papers.

But then again, she reminded herself that it could be a lot worse than this if she were back home with her brothers. Her little big brother would probably start complaining about how he wanted to take Jane on a date that day, dump all of his work on her shoulders, and run off with a girl named Eliza instead. So instead of just having to help around the house with her mother, she would have to help in the fields and on the farm with her other brothers who would no doubt start teasing her about having a bee in her hair and cause the whole barn to go into chaos… Again.

With a long, loud sigh, she began her duties of cleaning up this junk garage, hoping she would finish before she was randomly called on by another nurse to cover for her.

* * *

"This stuff is orange," Penkala complained. Now that he was an official Private, he was more commonly known by his surname as with all the other men in the company. "Spaghetti ain't supposed to be orange."

"This ain't spaghetti. This is army noodles with ketchup sauce," Frank Perconte, a short Italian, complained.

Today was a special day in Easy Company. Today was the day that Sobel had finally decided to let them rest, and also to give them a celebratory meal for a slight change of pace. Needless to say, despite Perconte's comment, they men of Easy Company were not about to waste a single bit of their hard earned gold.

Every single day they would run up Curahee, reach the top, and be yelled at for not reaching it in enough time by Lieutenant Sobel. One might even think that the only reason why he would want them to finish in less time is so that, one, he would have bragging rights, and two, he would have all the more time to think up punishments and nonexistent infractions for his company so he could actually carry out the punishments on them. Mainly the men regarded his 'genius' infractions and punishments as B.S, as all he really seemed to do was send them on hikes and take away their weekend passes.

A hunger for something _almost_ home cooked was being filled at last as the men inhaled the spaghetti, hoping this day would have no end. Bill Guarnere, another Italian, sat down next to his shorter Italian friend with a tray heaped with spaghetti and a slight smile on his face. Frank began going on about how as a fellow Italian, he should know that calling that 'crap' spaghetti was a mortal sin.

Right as he finished talking, however, the door slammed open and the devil himself marched in, pulling everyone to their feet at the state of attention.

"Orders changed. Get up," yelled Sobel, "Passes are canceled! Easy Company is running up Curahee. Change into your P.T gear. Three miles up, three miles down. Heigh-Ho-Silver!"

The mess officer, Dick Winters, stared at the horrific man before him without emotion. His eyes never seemed to fill with any emotion, nor his face for that matter, as everything about him was completely blank at this moment. How could he? He ordered today be taken off by Easy Company due to rain forecasts, and had specifically ordered spaghetti as a meal in 'celebration' of this 'change of pace', and now shows up in the middle of dinner to announce his cruel intention to the entire company; death by regurgitation. Had this man been blinded by all of his misdoings that he failed to see that there were some lines left that should not be crossed?

He shook his head at the thought of that – thinking a person so horrid. Sobel must be striving to make them the best of the best, not just 'the best'. Paratroopers are supposed to be surrounded, and at any given time they're going to need to move out. Whether it's towards the enemy or not, something is bound to happen during a meal where they are going to need to pack it up, then and there. Now, it made a little sense to him of why Sobel was as insane and cold hearted as he was.

He mentally smacked himself for that thought, even though he later excused it, remembering the person it was about.

Dick had made up his mind. He would not let his men suffer like this, not alone. Not with that man. He quickly changed into his P.T gear and began sprinting to find the men. Even though they were divided up into rows of for by eight, and altogether totally about one hundred and fifty-five men or so, Sobel had a horrible issue with working up from jogging to running. He liked to start off sprinting and work his way down to running about half-way through the march up, and then get the men sprinting again. As you can see, he was not a man that most people wanted to keep up with… At all.

Finally, when Dick had found his company, to his surprise, they were singing. He smiled at their will to make it through, and decided to join in. It was a paratrooper song, easy to memorize, and possibly the only song that could get stuck in your head once you starting thinking of it.

"We pull upon the risers; we fall upon the grass. We never land upon our feet, we always hit our ass," Dick sang along, making sure to make eye contact with Sobel as he ran ahead of him to his position. He had to say, for Sobel to look that surprised and distraught for even that split second was something he thought any man would buy him a beer for. They wouldn't, mainly because he didn't drink.

"Highty-Tighty, Christ almighty! Who the hell are we? Zim-Zam Goddamn, we're Airborne Infantry! We pull upon the risers; we fall upon the grass…" And they repeated each and every word of it until the end of the march.

* * *

"Excuse me," a man's voice called from the door way for what seemed to be the umpteenth time today. Though, this time, she didn't even bother to look. She knew what they were there for, and frankly, it just made her sick to her stomach that these men were even claiming to be men.

They had signed up for the darned Army for Pete's sake, and the Airborne no less. The best of the best is what they were, strongest of the strong, but she had to disagree with the 'toughest of the tough' part. She had seen too many cases today with ridiculous names today, all from _dogs with heart aches._ They claimed to have broken their pinky, ankle, wrist; anything that would get them the attention of a nurse. Of course, when she examined them, she found that they were indeed just minor sprains or bruises, all of which apparently were causing men to lose their mind and scream bloody murder. Even her elder brother, Glen, who was the cry baby in the family, would have just sucked it up and asked her mama to take a look at it _without_ screaming like he was giving birth.

"I'm sorry, sir," She began in a monotone voice, still looking over papers and papers of patient's medical charts, dates of birth, and dates of death. "I no longer give care for heart aches or broken hearts. If you really did have a broken heart, you would be dead, and if your heart was aching, then you wouldn't complaining to a 'nurse' about it, you'd be with a real doctor... And I am _certainly_ not the cure for erectile dysfunction nor stupidity. As with my fellow co-workers, we are serious about treating _real_ wounds, such as broken legs, arms, backs, necks, noses, etcetera, etcetera. If you have a surgery you need to schedule, please go to the front desk and fill out the paper work with your C.O."

"Well, Izzie," the voice had a certain warmness and affection in it that made her pause in her think twice about who it could be. She hadn't heard a voice like that over three years. "I must inform you that a broken nose is sissy stuff – no joke about you intended. And also I gotta ask this sometime or later; what are you doing in here? You're supposed to be with your company right now, doing back-breaking exercises and kicking asses, not… Filing. Are you filing papers? Lemme see that," and with that, the man walked over and grabbed the stack of papers she was holding. He scanned them briefly, flipping the pages like a book, then threw them into the air and sighed.

"One of the nurses asked you to clean this hell hole out, didn't they," he asked, looking down at her. Her ability to say not 'no' to a sad face was very well known in their family. She finally looked up from the ground, and stared right into brilliant olive green jewels. Her heart fluttered for a moment before she gave a sigh of relief and jumped up to hug the man.

"Clifford, I haven't seen you in three years," she cried with delight. Being only 5' 4'', she was not used to being a whole three feet higher in the air, and quickly began hitting Clifford playfully on the back. "Putmedown. I'm gonna puke."

He just smirked and decided, "What the hell," and began spinning her around on his shoulder. Words could not explain the look on her face. She hated him before, and she hated him now. Hatred would not cease in their relationship, nor would it ever hinder their bond. The closest bond is one that needs no description, that knows no boundaries, that time itself could not stop even it had no choice.

He put her down, chuckled at how hilarious her face looked. Her freckles were now more than ever present due to the redness that engulfed her face, her eyes about ready to pop out if they widened even a millimeter more, and mouth was completely twisted in ways one never possible. She stumbled a bit, but never fell down. After using the desk in the room to balance her, she shut her eyes tight and covered her mouth with her hand, shaking all over. For about a minute, there was nothing but laughter in the room, not from her, though. He was laughing up a storm as how his Izzie had reacted to a simple twirl (though it was more like few spins), and how ridiculous she looked afterwards.

Just then, a nurse bust through the door, breaking up the entire scene and atmosphere with her very presence.

"Doctor Jane," the nurse panted. "There's a patient in room three eighty two for you. Doctor Martin is busy, and the others have already gone home."

"So close," Clifford sighed.

She grabbed the chart the nurse was holding and was out the door in a matter of seconds, yelling something on the lines of this, "….Incompetence of this place! God help me, or I swear I will become an atheist!"

Clifford just chuckled, savoring seeing her so serious. He had never seen her like that back home after a prank, or ever heard anyone call her 'doctor' before… or Jane, for that matter. He laughed as he heard her sentence, and savored the effect it had on the hospital. Heads turned from left and right to see the girl who they had thought to be innocent and shy, all with either wide eyes or furrowed brows. He decided he wanted to see how this thing would end, so he went to go after her when he remembered something…

"Excuse me, nurse," he whipped around, "What room is she going to again?"

"Three eighty-two,"

"Thank you," he grinned and kissed her lightly on the forehead before running after 'Doctor Jane'.

* * *

"What's going on!?" a she roared. Three men were in the room, including the one on the bed, as well as a nurse who was dabbing furiously at his brow. They all looked up at her, one of the men vaguely familiar with her face, and the other in complete shock that she would holler that loud in such a small room. The nurse, however, did not move at all and just kept dabbing at his forehead, as he was sweating profusely.

"He's been complaining about intense pain in his lower abdomen," the nurse said, "He's got a fever of one hundred and three, gagged four times since he came in, and his abdomen is pretty swelled up. It's most likely—"

"Appendicitis," she finished. She moved over to the bed and rolled up her sleeves, shooing one of the men out of the way so she could have a better look at the soldier that lay on the bed. She cut open his shirt and began placing her hands on different areas, taking note of his reactions as she did so.

"Get this man prepped for surgery," she looked over at the nurses' name tag and squinted a bit. "Nurse… Ellen. I need to go wash up. Take him to Operating Room E 5 – it's the closest. Get an anesthesiologist over here and knock him out. He doesn't need any more pain then he's already got."

She stood up from hunching over the man and took a look at the clipboard.

"How long has he been like this?" she asked one of the other soldiers in the room. He looked at her funny, and then realized that she was talking to him.

"He's had a small cold for a bit – three days I think. Just today he started complaining about a dull pain over his belly – erm, naval, and it got worse. He tried talking to our CO about it, but he said he probably just ate something and to just deal with it. He didn't really acknowledge it until Christenson collapsed after our run." The man said.

She looked at the letters stitched into his uniform, and the chevrons on his sleeve.

"Good Heavens, Sergeant Martin, your CO is—"

"In this room," a voice spoke from behind her. She jumped and blushed furiously as she turned around to see a man with a sour look on his face. He was sitting in a chair by the door, which would explain why she didn't see him at first. She couldn't believe what was going to come out from her mouth if he didn't speak up. For some odd reason, she was thankful.

"Mister," she read his name tag, "Sobel, sir, you should have brought him in immediately. You were trained in Officer Candidate school the most basic medical skills, and undoubtedly how to identify appendicitis – one of the most common medical ailments. You've risked the life of one of your own men, and to top it all off you made him _run_. With a cold no less—"

"Izzie, that's enough," interrupted a stern voice. "Go wash up. You're wasting Christenson's time by blabbing."

She looked up at the man, stating, "But I was right, Clifford," and grumbled something more about the incompetence of this place.

She had to restrain herself from punching him in the arm as she past him. Shedding her lab coat she walked, she tossed it onto the counted on a help desk, her face clearly taken over with rage. How could a man – no, a Captain – be so idiotic?! She knew as a fact that officers were taught how to identify the most common ailments in OCS, mainly so this would not happen. An emergency visit to the hospital with a man who should have been brought in hours ago was possibly the stupidest thing she had seen here; an act even more brainless than nurses ditching work for soldiers.

* * *

**Okay... I said it would be out yesterday or today, so here it is! YAY! Thank you so much for your support, messages and reviews... I didn't expect my story to get this far! Please excuse any grammar errors and historical errors, but also keep in mind that this is a fiction. Minor events are meant to be changed, as well as some larger events, as you all must already know. I think I'm just saying that to reassure myself... Wow, I'm insecure. LAWLZ.**

**I wanted to show her serious side in this chapter, as well as what being tired can do to a person. I've got a LOT planned out for the next chapter, so stay tuned! **

**A few notes...**

**1) I have no idea what they were taught in Officer Candidate School (OCS), or for that matter who went. **

**2) I'm still being vague on her character, I know, I know... There's a reason for that, I promise. It's not just 'cause I'm lazy, I swear!**

**3) VOTE! Vote for your favourite pairing (guy/OC)**

**4) The many names for her in this chapter are NOT a fluke.**

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_R.I.P_

_Darrel 'Shifty' Powers - ????, 1923- June 17, 2009._

**An amazing man, one I hoped to have met someday, and an amazing shot.**

(This story is in no words able or worthy to be a tribute to him, but this little spot right here is.)


	3. Snap Back

**Author's Note:** Ohmehgoodness! Thank you so much for all your feedback, guys! It's amazing to read your reviews. And, because I love you so much, I decided to get this baby out early... Just for you! I never knew I could write this much.. Seriously. NINE PAGES. A;LSDJFSALDKJSF;. NINE. THAT'S LIKE A FRIKKIN' NOVEL. Anywho, be glad I haz Lyme Disease. It makes me not be able to sleep at night, so I haz to take sleeping pills that feel like they should be illegal. I DO NOT USE THE PILLS FOR WRITING. I write at night, when I'm supposed to be in bed, instead. DIFFERENCE. Wow, okay, I think I said to much already... Anyroad! Enjoy my friends, enjoy!

**DISCLAIMER:** **I do not own nor claim to own Band of Brothers or the real men of easy company.** What's-'Er-Face and her family belong to me, however.

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George Luz tapped his knee repeatedly in the waiting room. Did he just see who he thought he saw? Was that _the_ Miss Oregon? No, it couldn't be. Miss Oregon was a to-be trooper, disguised as a man for now. She wouldn't show her face in public! And to top it off, this woman was cold, serious, and very assertive. Nothing like what Skip or Talbert had described her as. Supposedly, Miss Oregon was child-like, very friendly, and very… Well, cute-like. This lady had surprisingly bright grey eyes – the ones they said Miss Oregon had. A spray of freckles across her nose and a few on her cheeks that Liebgott says totaled forty-six; twenty seven on one side and nineteen on the other. He swears he had nothing better to do, even though Talbert keeps telling him that they were playing a very serious game of black jack at the time.

The woman that stood before him not fifteen minutes ago was certainly not child-like in any way. He saw the glare she was giving Martin for letting a man go so ignored. That was not the innocent look the men swear she had, that was a look saying if he said it was his fault, she'd pounce and make sure he would be the one in bed, and not Christenson. Of course, when Martin said it was Sobel's fault in reality… Well his day could not get any better. The look she gave his Captain Sobel and the words that came out of her mouth – that alone made his day. Possibly even his three months here, who knows? Depends if anyone kicked his butt or not before the war. And the way her friend, Major Finnegan spoke – yelled would be a more choice word now – to Sobel, well that just made it all the merrier. Heck, if he didn't know better, he'd swear the reason Martin smacked him was because he was smiling and trying not to laugh.

But now was no laughing matter. Christenson was being cut open with a knife, and having a part of him yanked out. Did they yank it out? Luz had always thought that they would use a knife, or a scapular –whatever that instrument was called – to remove it. So now he questioned himself with his new thought of yanking. Heck, he'd just ask Christenson what they did; he'd know. Actually, Luz was surprised that he wasn't hearing screams from the O.R right now. Christenson was no cry baby, but hey, come on, a knife to your stomach? That's gonna hurt.

Martin sat next to him, rather annoyed that Sobel just up and left on the two of them. He said something about filing a report on this, but he highly doubted that to be the case. Major Finnegan gave him the worst talking to as soon as that lady doctor left the room; he had to slap Luz for laughing at that. Sobel had left him and Luz to wait for the Private, saying someone had to do it. Of course, Martin wouldn't have minded if that were Sobel – not one bit. But it was him and George Luz, waiting for one of Sobel's own men to see if he survived or not. It wasn't a major surgery, but it was a surgery nevertheless, and there can always be some sort of mortality rate.

Much to his dismay, George's fingers would not sit still on his knee and tapped it at an increasingly high speed, cutting the silence in the room. He looked over at George, who didn't seem to notice and just kept tapping his sweet time away.

"Luz," Martin's firm voice shook Luz from his thoughts, making him look up at his sergeant surprisingly quick.

"Huh,"

"Stop,"

"Stop what?"

"Yer tapping. It's annoying,"

"Tapping what, sir?"

"Your knee. Tapping your knee. Quit doing that, it's bugging me,"

"Oh, sorry," Luz apologized. He looked down towards the room Christenson was getting sliced open in, and wondering just what it would feel like to have something penetrate your skin that far to save your life. A scapular being purposely thrust into your belly… Wait, hadn't he already thought of this? Just how long had Christenson been in that room?

"…Hell? Luz, stop," Martin's voice came again. He nearly snapped his neck as he heard Martin's voice yet again. He looked from Martin, back down to his knee to find his finger just tapping to its own delight on his knee.

"Sorry, sir," Luz muttered again.

"I just wish they would hurry the up," Martin's gruff voice said, breaking the silence in the room yet again. "You're annoying the shit outta me, Luz."

Not long after the words had left his lips had the strawberry blonde doctor stormed out of the Operating Room, wrenching her bloody gloves off and throwing them in the nearest trash bin. Her while face screamed bloody murder, though not a single word had left her mouth. Tears were streaming down her face, glistening in the hospitals lighting, and making her freckles pop more than usual. Her pale rose lips were trembling, her fists were clenched, and she had her pale fingers running rapidly through her hair as she hung herself over the edge of the help desk. Martin and Luz stood up immediately, knowing something had gone terribly wrong in there. Luz got to her first, and being the knowledgeable man he was, turned her around and held her shoulders, shaking her a bit.

"Ma'am, please calm down," Martin said as he rushed over. She kept her face hidden in the palms of her hands the entire time, sobbing and sobbing about God knows what.

"Not now, Martin! Go find that Major Finnegan! They looked like they knew each other," Luz ordered his Sergeant in a harsh whisper, trying not to disturb her more than she already was. Martin nodded and jogged off to the front of the hospital where he knew some nurse would have taken notice of where Major Finnegan had left. He was a handsome man, and could most likely catch many of the ladies' eyes here and attention with just one look.

Luz fell silent when she pushed herself into his chest to cry. His body went completely stiff at this point; he had no idea who she was or what she was crying about. Reluctantly, he wrapped his arms around her and let her cry into his chest, telling her it was going to be okay, everything was going to be alright. He just hoped he could hold until Martin found Major Finnegan. He knew the basics of comforting women when they cried, but nothing more than that. Holding them and telling them it was going to be alright was as far as his knowledge went, and he really did _not_ want to find out what would happen if she started talking.

The O.R door burst open yet again, and Luz wanted to shut his eyes as he knew there would be a sheet or a body bag on the bed. He did the exact opposite as he saw Christenson, breathing with the help of an oxygen tank, still hooked up to an I.V drip, and very much alive. His head tilted to the side in confusion; what was she so upset and crying about? She had just saved his life, shouldn't she be happy? She didn't get the surgery site confused and gone for his – no, she wouldn't do that. She's not that stupid, is she?

About five more torturous minutes of Luz not knowing what to do with her went by, when finally his relief came. Major Finnegan came sprinting over to see his little Izzie in the arms of another man, sobbing her little heart out. Right now, beating that man's ass could wait, it was his little sister he was worried the most about. He told Luz he could take it from there and sent him back with Martin to Camp Toccoa, telling them he'd send someone the next day with a report on Christenson.

"Izzie," Clifford coaxed, "Izzie it's okay, it's okay. He's alive, you did a wonderful job. Come on, I'll take you back to that file room and we can talk in private, alright?"

She grabbed her lab coat before nodding slowly, wiping a few tears from her eyes, and followed him, hand-in-hand to the file room. Having her older brother there seemed to make everything like just a bad dream; as long as he was here she would be awake. She still continued to shed a few tears along the way, but managed to sober herself up a little before entering the room.

As soon as the door shut, Clifford began his questioning.

"Izzie, tell me what's going on." He walked to the other side of the room as she sat on the desk where there was a box of tissue with her name on it. After blowing her nose a few times and wiping her eyes, she finally began to breathe normally.

"Clifford, I want that transfer order." Sternness filled her once honey-sweet, happy voice, and everything about her seemed to change. Her eyes were cold. Her ever-present calming smile was gone. She had left happiness and laughter and crossed the bridge that lead to all seriousness and viciousness. The emotions that were once alive in her were burnt to embers with the fires of anger.

"Is that what you're mad about, Izzie," Clifford looked confused, and put on his serious face as well.

"You said yourself that I was to be with my 'company', training and kicking asses. Yet, you were the one who never sent that transfer order. Did you forget? No, you didn't. You chose not to get me that order because something came up, and you didn't even want to talk to me about it. Hell, you didn't even want to see me! You know I am not here to be a solider – I'm here to be a surgeon. I stay in the back lines and only come when called. I don't carry a gun, or the title of a medic, but I will be there when they need me, to help and not to count my cost. Cliff, I want that transfer order. I'm sick of this place – this hospital hardly acknowledges my existence! I'm stuck doing paper work and filing, doing check-ups, rectal exams even! This was not what we agreed I would do!" She yelled.

"Izzie… You're my only sister. My baby sister. My best friend! I don't want to risk your life; you're a part of me. I'm going to protect you at all costs – everything I can do in my power. I can't lose you. Without you, I'd—"

"Shut **UP**," she roared for the second time today, "**Shut up, for Pete's sake**! You don't get this, do you!? I _**need**_ to help! That's why I'm here. This was the second surgery I've done since I got here, Cliff. Nobody knows my name, who I am, or what I do. They call me doctor, nurse, and sometimes they think I'm the secretary for the Chief of Medicine! I am _made_ for a different job, Cliff. I'm used to being up at the crack of dawn, used to running races with you and our mentally disturbed family," that earned a little laugh and a small smile from both of them, "And more importantly, I'm used to cutting people open and fixing them! You don't understand how much I need to be there for them. Someone needs to look after them, Cliff. That son of a witch _and _a witch with a 'B' has no idea what he's doing when his men get hurt! Someone needs to take charge when that happens, Cliff, someone he can't dismiss!"

Cliff paused for a moment, praying to God she wasn't implying what he thought she was implying. She wanted to be Easy Company's surgeon to look out for the men. Sobel's men. Easy Company, the finest back-breaking company in the entire five-oh-six, and the only company to do a 35-mile march¹ every Friday night.

"You want me to get you a transfer order into Easy Company…?" he finally managed to speak. He had calmed down a bit, seeing as how she wasn't as crazy as she had let on, even though it was well into midnight.

"If I had gotten to Christenson all but two minutes later, he would have been dead, Cliff," another tear fell from her face as she said this. "I know you can't replace the man for just one incident, as he clearly didn't know any better, and the symptoms can sometimes mimic gas, he'll have a solid case against this if you try to reprimand him. Cliff, I was already supposed to be training. We agreed that I would train on the week days with the men; instead of the gun range I would train and study with the medics, and on the weekends I would perform surgeries in the hospital, both under supervision and on my own. This is what you told me would happen, and that is exactly what never did."

Cliff's face stayed the same. He had not wanted to send that slip of paper to the Chief of Medicine; she needed to be safe and out of danger. Being a field surgeon was a job that could possibly be more dangerous than being a soldier at times, and his baby sister would be out in the open a lot. He couldn't lose her. Not now. Not in this war. She was his best friend, and his favourite sibling out of his nine brothers and her. They actually got along in many aspects, and shared many opinions, but apparently not this particular one.

At first, he was joyous that his town's 'Medical Miracle' would be coming up to Camp Toccoa, where he was stationed. They worked it all out, every detail to the last period of the plan. She would train with the men on week days, get the medic's training instead of rifle training and gun ranges, and work on her surgery skills over the weekends so she could meet the requirements of a field surgeon. When it came the time to fight, she would be kept in the back lines unless called forward. She would never engage in any battle head-on, and would only be a little less than a medic in battles. She would need a different place to do operations, whether a house or a field, as long as it was away from the battle, she would be fine. She would not be given a rank, nor even be qualified as a soldier, making her only attachment to the army the loyalty to her family, new friends, and country. She would not be a soldier; she would be a field surgeon.

But, when the thought occurred to him that she would be at risk not only by being the only girl among the men at the camp, but also at an even larger risk on the battlefield where bullets were flying, he had silently changed his mind about it. He had never given her that slip she needed to move on out to the camps, and he had not even tried to see her until today. He came today to tell her what he had decided, and thought she would be perfectly happy here. But as he could see now, this was not the case. She had no friends here, no one knew what she was, and she wasn't even able to do what she was supposed to do; surgeries.

After this event with Easy Company, he saw something needed to be done. She wasn't crying to get attention, she was crying because how neglected the men were there. So neglected, they almost died. She was right when she said he could not replace Sobel because of one incident, as gas was sometimes a mistaken for appendicitis; 20% of appendixes that were removed were perfectly fine. Christenson's was on the verge of bursting, however, but Sobel would have that same excuse; he thought it was just gas until the pain become more severe.

For her to snap like this was hugely uncommon, even at home with her brothers. She never snapped at all. She would yell, yes, but not to this extent. And there was not one single time when her conscience would not get the better of her and make her apologize to her mother, brothers, and father for what she had said or done. This was not a joking matter. She had pulled pranks on him before, but not to this extent. She was completely serious about this, and that's what made him find himself both scared and beginning to cave.

"Izzie-boo, are you on your rag?" he teased. His ultimate nick-name for her escaped his lips on accident, but she didn't notice either it or his little remark. A smile was inching its way onto his fine features as he realized he had just been fighting a battle with his little sister, and had lost. "Easy Company, huh?" She nodded her head in agreement. Both had finally calmed down a bit, and were breathing at a more normal pace. Things had finally clicked in bother their heads, giving them an understanding of why they were as they were today.

"Cliff," she started, but was shushed by the shaking of his head.

"Izzie I hate you. And you've gotta really love something to genuinely hate it, so I gotta say Izzie, I _loathe_ you. You and your silly ways are just too much sometimes, and I don't think Captain Sobel will be able to handle you. Give 'em hell for me," he winked and walked out of the file room, closing the door behind him and walking straight towards the hospital entrance. He can't believe he just said that, or did that for that matter.

A relieved smile graced her tired features as she slowly slid down from the desk and to the floor, falling asleep almost instantly. Her sleep was deep, resting, and the dreams she had were extremely random. Who know all flying dogs had turbans?

* * *

She opened the door, and savored the smell of fresh, hospital air. Falling asleep in the filing room after a surgery was not something she had done before, and never did plan on doing it again. She didn't change into clean clothes like most doctors would after a surgery, in fact she completely forgot about it. It had filled the air of the room with a horrible blood mixed with soap mixed with dirty hair smell, and in an enclosed space like that it was much stronger than in the rest of the hospital. She sighed at she swept a strand of stray hair behind her ear, and continued walking towards the Chief of Medicine's office. She had some business she had to take care of, and she would not stop until it was over with.

"No shit," some man said about fifty yards away from her. His voice was loud enough and distinct enough that she could hear it loud and clear above all the noise and bustling of the place, "Miss Oregon! Miss Oregon, that you?"

She turned around swiftly to see two of the men she had so dearly missed since she had stepped off that bus three months ago. Her heart jumped at the mere sight of them. Floyd and Joe, the two first friends she had ever made outside of Oregon. Her tiredness seemed to fade away, life seemed to flood back into her eyes, and a that rosy pink she seemed to wear so well came back into her cheeks. She felt alive again. The noises in the background seemed to fade away, as all she could focus on were the two men she had befriended and thought she may have lost. A child-like, gentle smile glued itself to her lips as she began walking towards them, completely forgetting her blood-stained clothing.

"Floyd," she waved to both of them, "Joe! It's so good to see you again! Wow, you two have some serious muscle going on."

Her oblivious comment left both men with a grin on their faces, which soon fell as soon as they saw the bloodied clothes she was wearing.

"Shit," muttered Joe. "What the hell happened to you? You're not a patient here, are you!?"

"Oh," her face lit up as she realized what they must be thinking, "No, no, no! This is… Hm, what was his name again? Oh, Private Christenson's. Nice thank-you gift, isn't it?"

"No," Floyd shook his head, his eyes clearly filled with concern, and a possible hint of anger. "No, he's… We just came from his room. He's alive. And what in God's name is his blood doing on your clothes?"

"Well, yes, of course he's alive," her face became blank as she was entirely oblivious as to what they were asking. "I made sure to leave him alive last I saw him. Why? What happened to him? Is he alright?"

"He's here in the hospital," Joe narrowed his eyes at her, "Just got his appendix removed last night. Nurse told us he almost died in the Operating Room."

"Yes, yes he almost did. I'm the one that took it out."

Nothing seemed to click in any of their minds, and with it being nine thirty in the morning, who could blame them? Both men looked at her curiously, forgetting the Miss Oregon they had once known her to be, and now looked at her as if they had just been given some sort of drug to make them hallucinate a flying dog with a turban wrapped around its head and ears. Just when Floyd was about to say something, good old George Luz walked out of room three-eighty-two, laughing at some joke he had just made to Christenson about Sobel. He looked up and saw his friends conversing with the pretty doctor he had seen last night, and decided it was time he introduced himself to her. He wouldn't bring up the events of last night for his life, but after holding her for what – ten minutes? – he decided he should at least have the pleasure of knowing her name.

"Hey, boys," he grinned, walking over to both of them and patting Floyd on the back. "Hello, Doc! Kudos on the operation. That lovely nurse that brought him out told us that if you were two minutes late, he'd be dead, most likely. And I have to say, seeing Sobe – Our CO being yelled at like that really made my day! Well, technically, night, since it was probably nine or something… Uh, hey, I'm George Luz. Easy Company, Five-oh-Sink."

She quickly regained the laugh in her eyes and the giggling smile of her before shaking his hand. He seemed familiar some how, but she couldn't put a place or name on his face. He had the oddest twinkle in his eyes, like he was up to something no good, or soon to be. He was a lot like Michael, her kid brother, except a lot shorter. A _lot_ shorter. Hugely short compared to Michael, just as almost everyone else was in the hospital. At 6' 5 ½'', no one could really argue with her whenever she said someone was short. Her tall standard was very high.

"I'm glad someone has some common sense in your company," she smiled. The atmosphere around them started to change as Floyd and Joe heard the word 'doctor' being used on Miss Oregon.

"You're a doctor?" Joe crossed his arms over his chest and tilted his head a bit.

"No," she sighed heavily. "I'm a surgeon in-training."

"So, you're a medical student?" Joe asked in confusion.

"Surgeon, huh?" Floyd didn't seem to hear Joe's comment at all, and now understood the comment about how she was the one who took out Christenson's appendix. She was back to being the girl from Oregon with the lively, bright grey eyes, short strawberry-blonde, freckled face and tinted cheeks again, and no longer a flying dog with a turban on.

"You're not a full surgeon yet? Why'd they let you operate on Christenson?" George seemed to be the only one who knew anything today, including right now.

"My dad," she replied, "I've been doing supervised surgeries since I was sixteen, I think. It's a long story, just like my family."

"And you are now," George trailed off. Joe and Floyd were just looking at him with a hidden astonishment; George was getting more out of her then they had, and they saw her first.

"Don't ask a lady her age," Joe smacked him over the head. George muttered something about 'twice that day', "By the way, how old _are_ you?"

She laughed and shook her head at them, being once again reminded of her brothers. They had all been split up once they got on those buses; both Davis and Jason, the twins, went to D Company, Elijah went to B Company, Neil went to C Company, Lloyd was A Company, Walter was I company, Gene was H Company, Glenn was G Company, and Clifford was the Battalion Commander of the 3rd Battalion. None of them ever had time off at the same time, and if they did, they rarely chose to spend it with her. Seeing all of them together was a rare sight these days, and had not happened in over three years. She wholly missed the days when she could be with them all at once, and joke about how times had changed or ponder on why psychics have to ask for your name. To have even just three men so at ease and relaxed around her was something entirely blissful to her, especially when they were teasing her and joking left and right.

"Well, I'm—"

"Excuse me, nurse," Doctor Martin called out. Her face dropped completely, and Luz could swear he saw her eye twitching in annoyance, "Could you check on Private Christenson's injury for me? I have a date with Ellen and I can't be late. Here's his chart."

"I'm not a nurse," she muttered under her breath. She took the clipboard from him, knowing perfectly well that he had just killed Christenson's pride. An 'injury' in a sprained ankle or a bruise; Christenson had his appendix removed.

"Thank you, Nurse Genevieve," he added, "You look terrible."

"Oh," she looked down at her clothes and blushed. "I um, I stayed overnight after helping with an emergency patient. I guess I was so tired I forgot I had blood all over me." She sighed and shook her head at herself for forgetting once again that she was a bloody mess. She pulled her lab coat on and buttoned it up. She smiled a bit before turning back to her newly found friends, a shy, laughing smile on her face. It fell slowly as she saw the smirk that played on Joe and Floyds' faces. They had never looked at her like that before, and to be honest it startled her.

" W-What," she stuttered, eyes wide and mouth slightly ajar.

"Miss Oregon's name is Genevieve," Floyd stated.

"Oh,"

"You don't really look like a Genevieve." Joe laughed.

"I thought your name was Izzie," George added.

"Well, I generally respond to anything with a 'Juh' at the beginning, so take your pick. But, uh, 'Izzie' is what my brothers call me," she giggled. "I need to go check on your friend, see how he's doing. He hasn't been complaining about any pain, today, has he?" She had switched into half-doctor mode right now, surprising the men a little. Especially George. He had thought 'doctor mode' for her was what he saw last night, and was actually hugely surprised when he met her today at how… different she was from last night. Wait – did Tab just call her 'Miss Oregon'?

"_That_ is Miss Oregon?" George asked as she walked away from them.

"Yup." Floyd smiled as he watched her walk towards Christenson's room, "Which reminds me, Liebgott, we need to have another Poker game with her sometime soon."

"Aw," Joe chuckled, "You miss loosing?"

"She cleaned you out?" Luz laughed.

"Shuddup."

* * *

**She explodes! Wowzers...**

**The chapter title, 'Snap Back', has several meanings in this chapter. It's not just a rhyme! C:**

**5,401 words. Novel right up there. WOOHOO FOR NON-STOP TYPING! Srzly. I was up till two in the morning typing that. Any road... As promised, MUCH more detail on 'Miss Oregon' in here, a whole, whole ton. Plus some extra dramdramadrama. I really can't believe I wrote all that... A few months ago, the most I could write would be half a page and then the story would get deleted because I hated it. YAY FER TIME! It changes every thing :) I've got bunches and bunches planned out for this story, which is a bit rare for me, so consider yerself luckay! Tell me how I'm doing, please?**

**Few notes:**

**1) It was stated in the series that they did 12 mile marches every friday night, however, on wikipedia, it was stated that was a fluke. Wikipedia says it was actually thirty-five miles, and not twelve. So if I'm wrong, I blame those wikipedia people. **

**2) VOTE VOTE VOTE! Vote your favourite pairing if you haven't already voted yet! (Easy or Former Dog Company Guy/OC)**


	4. Not Easy

**Author's Note:** Hokay, hope you're happy. Nearly 6,500 words here. Sorry, it took a while... I have a good excuse, I swear! WRITER'S BLOCK. RAWR. That and I was supposed to get a new puppy, but it didn't work out as planned so I was set back for a while. I'm not getting anything historically correct, I bet...

OH! Except this!! I was so proud of myself when I read this. So she was on the bus in July, yeah? In the last chapter, it had been three months (as I recall...) since then, making it October. WINTERS WAS MADE A 1ST LIEUTENANT IN OCTOBER. I feel happy :) I got something right without even knowing it :D

A special thanks goes to **hansolo18 **for getting me through writers block! Without her I would have written an extremely crappy, rushed chapter. GO READ HER STORIES. Her BoB story is a personal favourite of mine :)

**Disclaimer: I do not own nor claim to own Band of Brothers or the real men of Easy Company. **I do however, own Izzie/Genevieve/Name-that-starts-with-'Juh'-here and her family :)

* * *

One week, four days, and three hours. That's how long it had been since she had seen her brother. She had been waiting so patiently for the transfer slip. So patiently, in fact, that she had forgotten almost all about her duties at the hospital. This, however, did not seem to make the higher-ups pleased and had her working the night shift in the Emergency Room a lot. George Luz always seemed like he had nothing else better to do than be constantly at the hospital with some poor soldier, and just so happened to catch a glimpse of Izzie while waiting for the man to be patched up with a band-aid and given a lollipop. From there on, he'd strike up a conversation with her which would normally end up being around forty-five minutes to an hour long, disturbing many people with how much they were laughing.

Liebgott would come in and see her as well; Floyd would tag along with a box of cards and a determination to not let a girl beat him at his game again. He still tried every time he saw her. Liebgott had no interest in beating her, however. He'd just go there for a break from Sobel, and to be indoors for a change. Even though it was a hospital, the staff lounge was a nice change of scenery compared to the camp. The boys would come over on Friday nights to play poker, and much to George's dismay, she was actually pretty darn good at it. Her poker face was an innocent trap, ensnaring unsuspecting victims in pools of wide, round, brilliant grey pools, and then – WHAM! – they had lost the game. Floyd said that she had been using that face since July, 1942. They would stay and play until her night shift would start; usually she would know this by the screaming of a man downstairs in pain. During these games and random meet-ups, they had become quite good friends.

Tonight had to be the worst night she had worked so far. She had lost two men during surgery already, and it was barely midnight. One of the men had been stabbed in a bar fight, and the other had been hit by an automobile; their faces had been etched into her memory forever. She heaved a heavy sigh as she bent over her new patient, Dr. Martin himself – he wasn't feeling too good tonight.

"Wh-who are you," he demanded. She replied by flashing a light in his eyes while holding his eye lid up.

"It seems you've suffered some memory loss, Doctor Martin. What happened to you?" she asked softly.

"Nurse! **Nurse**! Help me, please!" he cried, "S-someone, please, help me!"

"Sir," she began gently, "Sir, can you tell me your name?"

"Who are you?!"

"I'm your doctor for tonight, sir. Do you remember anything that happened yesterday? Anyone you met, something you did – anything?"

"Away from me, she-devil!"

"Nurse," she called. "Can I get a level six sedation injection over here?"

"Sedation," Doctor Martin gasped. "You pickle-loving, basket-headed, bouncing coconut shell! The only one of us who needs sedation here is **you**, you demonic plague! FATHER! Nurse, go get a priest to exorcise this possessed, walking Satan."

"Sir, I assure you, I'm not possessed," she sighed softly upon seeing a familiar face poking around the corner. "Doctor Martin, I assure you, I am not and have never been possessed before. I go to the Catholic Mass every Sunday, attend Adoration whenever possible, and spend more than an hour in confessionals. _And _I have been dunked in holy water more than once, held there for fifteen seconds each time, and it was not my baptism. The Church concluded from then on that I was indeed not possessed, and apologized many times after that. Father Noel has never had a conversation with me since that didn't involve apologizing."

"Oh, well then you must be a witch then," the Doctor argued, seeing sense in what she had just said.

"Nope," she looked to the door and saw the nurse with the sedation she had ordered. She hated doing this, but it seemed to be the only way to get him to settle down. "I just told you about the time my priest dunked me in holy water, and how nothing happened except for me almost drowning. Really, sir, must I go into more detail?"

She eyed the nurse who had the syringe hidden away in her uniform, this case not being a new thing for either of them. Knowing Doctor Martin helped them both out a little as well; now that they looked back on his time here, they realized that he had slowly been slipping into this, bit by bit. He was hallucinating, and in a state of mind that one could not deem right at all.

"Well, now that I know you're not a witch or demon, how about telling me what you really are then?" he was speaking in a British accent this time.

She looked at him and gave him a large, laughing smile, saying, "I'm magical."

Those were the last words he had heard from her that night that fully registered. While she had been conversing with Doctor Martin, the nurse had silently crept up to his bedside and then had the syringe ready. Moving quickly and steadily, she had him in a trance-like state in less than five seconds. She sighed and shook her head, wondering how he could have become like that and have no one notice until now.

"You two experience more fun here than back at camp!" George Luz exclaimed, walking into the room. She let out a soft laugh and just shook her head at him, understanding his point but still not approving of it. "And seriously, your priest dunked you in holy water before and almost drowned you? I need to visit your church sometime."

"What's a… a…. Where's a Church?" Doctor Martin mumbled.

"Over the rainbow, buddy," Luz told him. That answer seemed to satisfy him enough, and he closed his eyes. Undoubtedly, he was searching for this thing called 'Church' that lay just over that rainbow in his mind.

"George, why are you always here at witching hours?" she asked. "I would have thought Sobel would have locked the doors of your Company at night. But, you seem to have dug a hole to visit me whenever you want."

"Ha! Funny, Izzie. I'm telling that one to Muck and Penkala – they still don't believe it's you here. I've tried to get them to come with me a few times, but they just chicken out on me and say they're gonna get caught by Winters or Sobel or something." He made an over exaggerated frown as he spoke, earning a small giggle from Izzie.

"Really, George, what are you always doing here? You really need to get some sleep. You're supposed to be up in what – five hours?" she paused, "And you should really eat something, too. You look exhausted, George. What in the world is that man feeding you? Hay?"

"Uh, not quite, but close. As for why I'm here," he trailed off. Pulling a piece of paper from his uniform, he flipped it a few times before handing it to her. "Major Clifford wanted me to give that to you, Izzie. He said it was important, and that I could get some grub here. Where's the cafeteria?"

"It came," she squealed. Jumping up and down, she tore open the envelope and completely ignored George's question. Was this the transfer order? Was it? She had been waiting so long for this; Clifford had never been this slow in his entire life. George just stared at her, a blank look on his face. What was she doing? He was _hungry_. Cafeteria. Now.

Her eyes skimmed over the letter with delight, going so fast George wondered if she was even reading any of it. If it was possible, her eyes seemed to get even wider and wider with excitement and happiness, and he had never seen her smile grow that big. She resumed jumping up and down after finishing it, giggling all the while. George looked at her and motioned for her to spit it out, but got no reply.

"Aw, come on, Izzie," he whined. "What did it say?"

"You'll see," she giggled.

"Mhm. Where's the cafeteria, again? I couldn't make it out between all those pig noises,"

"Take a left and follow the signs," she laughed before walking past him. She turned right, obviously in her own little world, giggling about some unknown letter. People had tried talking to her that night, but she wouldn't reply. During the cases that came in that night – even the more severe cases – she would treat with a smile, which to the nurse's amusement actually seemed to help with the atmosphere of the room.

She would wear a dress; yes, that seemed fitting. Maybe her rose pink dress, or her navy blue one, or maybe the copper colored one? Oh, but they were all so simple! Plain cotton, plain dresses, plain shoes – all could describe her wardrobe perfectly. Plain. What were you supposed to wear to a meeting with a Colonel that you were informed of the midnight of the day you were to be there? She had honestly no clue. This was not described to her in the details of her and Clifford's plan those many months ago.

* * *

She sat patiently outside the office, clenching her fists in anticipation. This was it. In the next few minutes her fate would be sealed, and one way or the other she had a tough job ahead of her. Her mind began racing through thoughts of what would happen, what they would say, what she would do… Every possible outcome seemed to be filled with mistakes. But, that wasn't important right now. _She_ wasn't important right now. The lives of the men of Easy Company were what was important right now, and she really didn't care what happened to her during the war. What she did care about what would happen to them under that idiotic Captain Sobel's command, and hoped against all hopes that she would be permitted to join them in training.

She wasn't completely selfless. She could be very selfish at times, but she knew that now was not the time for that, not during the war. She had to let go of herself before she left home, as the only reason she was here was not because she wanted glory or fame – no, not any of that. Firstly, she didn't want her brothers to outdo her and just leave her behind to work on the farm instead of doing her medical studies, and secondly, she wanted to help. She had been used to getting up at the crack of dawn, working until her legs gave way (which really did happen a few times), and sleeping very few hours, so training with the men would not be as hard on her as it would be for many other girls. Also, her family had pretty much desensitized her to manliness and she was pretty at ease with boys and men, as well as their comments about other women. Heck, she had probably made a few herself as a joke. The army was no place for a lady, and she knew that. But she was not to be '_in the Army_' exactly, though she would be fighting for it all the way, both mentally and physically. Being a small-town farm girl, she had no intensions of being a lady. She was just there to help, nothing more, nothing less.

The office door opened, and a man with a slightly curvy mustache walked out and stood in front of her, smiling a very firm smile. Much to her surprise, she saluted him, though it was very sloppy. She stood up and waited for his voice with eager ears.

"Why don't you step into my office, Miss Finnegan," His accent made her laugh inwardly. She had imagined Army generals and colonels with that exact accent and voice, and she had to admit she couldn't wait to hear him yell orders to him subordinates.

As she walked into his office, she noticed that aside from Clifford and the man that had invited her in, there was another man there. He was shorter than Clifford, standing about an inch or two taller than herself, and had light red hair. He looked her up and down, as if attempting to size her and her medical abilities up in one glance. He wasn't all that happy with what he saw. Apparently, her freckles and child-like hair was not what he thought of when he thought 'surgeon'.

"Miss Finnegan," the man with the semi-crooked mustache sat down behind a fancy desk. "Clifford here seems to think that you want to be in the Airborne. Is that true?"

"Not entirely, sir," she said meekly. "I'm not here to be a soldier, sir. I'm here to be a field surgeon, which requires me to have army training. I want to train with the men so I can show them that I can be strong, and get to know them better. As a surgeon, sir, I find it easier to perform surgeries when I know the person I am operating on. It tells me just how much I need them to live through that, to live to see another day, with me or without me; bonds strengthen the will to live – always. Some of the folks back home, as well as here, doubt my physical abilities and voice, and have labeled me as a meek little girl, which I am most certainly not when I don't want to be."

"Well," he grinned, "I can see that. But why do you think they label you like that?"

"Sir, I grew up as the second youngest in a family of all boys – ten boys to be exact. Compared to them and their fights, I was a whisper in a dark corner. That's just what people thought when they saw our family," she blushed a little as she remembered the looks her family would get when on vacations, "But sir, I must inform you that I am not a little girl. I am a perfectly strong almost surgeon whose life used to revolve around waking up before dawn and working until my legs collapsed from under me. I grew up with men all around me – I'm used to them."

He seemed to be pondering what question to ask next as he looked to the other man in the room to the side of Clifford, who seemed to have some sort of blinking language going on between them and soon found his next question via twenty-two blinks between the men.

"Miss Finnegan," he turned back to her, "You do realize that you will be the only woman in the entire camp, and in the entire Easy Company barracks, am I correct? And Miss, Easy Company is no fairy tale; the men aren't knights in shining armor and bouquets of roses . It's shaping up to be the finest company in the entire five-oh-six. Captain Sobel is very strict on keeping the soldiers on-time and well-disciplined. And you're telling me, that a girl of twenty-one years can handle that?"

"Sir, as I had said, I'm not here to be a soldier, I'm here to be a field surgeon. Everyone… Everyone has to start off somewhere, yes? I'll work my way up to the men if I can't keep up, and I can guarantee you that once I reach that peak, I'll stay there. I don't… No, I won't disappoint you or your men, sir. I'm here to serve, not to order or lounge around." Her gentle voice had a touch of sternness about it now, peaking his interest in her.

Well, she did seem promising. She was not to be a soldier, and she was very well aware of that. She was determined, and her growing up on the farm had its upsides here, as well as being the only daughter out of eleven children. She was used to being around men, their foul mouths and rough ways, and she was used to hard working. Her career required her to be on time no matter what, and from what Major Clifford had told him about her, she was a very strong girl, and it would take more than an entire battalion of Krauts and Japanese mixed together to bring her spirit down.

Easy _was_ lacking a surgeon, and a female face may be able to boost their morale as Captain Sobel seemed to be running them a bit hard lately. She could stop training whenever she wanted, and just build up to where they were, so it wasn't as if he was sending her off to her doom or anything. Perhaps she really might do some good out there. Clifford had also mentioned that she had met some of the men of Easy before and befriended them, as well as took out an Easy man's appendix the other night, so she should be welcomed, if only a little. And to top it off….

"I don't suppose… Anyone here has heard of a female medical student who wanted to train with the paratroopers, have they?" he asked.

Clifford shook his head and smirked, knowing she had just gotten the go-ahead. Colonel Sink wanted to be the first in everything, to beat everyone, to win everything. He had just won himself something he never knew was out there. He would be the very first to train a field surgeon in an army camp, and let _her_ be part of a company, without even being a soldier. He had no idea how many fates he had sealed that day, though someday he would.

"Welcome to the Five-Oh-Six, Miss Finnegan," the man whom she had not been introduced to yet smiled at her. She shyly returned it, being very overwhelmed at the moment by a sense of accomplishment.

"As you may have already guessed, Miss, a transfer of your category has never been done before, so this may take a few weeks to process. Major Strayer will introduce you to your new Commissioned Officers and Commanding Officer sometime this week, and in the meantime I want you to stay at the hospital and continue your work." Colonel Sink's words were something she had not been quite expecting to hear, but accepted them nonetheless.

She was stuck working in the hospital for a few more weeks, more to her dismay. She didn't think the transfer would go right away, maybe the next if she was lucky, but now that she stood here realized a few weeks sounded more realistic to her. She'd be stuck in that hell hole for the rest of the month no doubt, but on the bright side she would get to meet her new NCO's. Major Strayer wasn't the happiest of men to have her in his battalion, namely because she was exposing herself to death, death, and more death. If she was killed in combat, he knew her brothers would place the blame on him and eventually he would join her before his time, but that was the only reason he was weary of her presence.

She would be under his command from now on, with only the small words of influence from Clifford to help her along her long journey. She knew that being wounded in combat would be likely, and she was willing to face that. What is a mere human with a wound – a wound that would heal in time – compared to thousands of lives that could and would be saved by her hand alone, with hardly any time left?

Miniscule was her answer.

* * *

His gaze did not help her one bit. She was attempting to be on her best behavior today, but obviously he was not. Major Strayer and Colonel Sink didn't seem to notice, though, and just went on with the meeting. Clifford was absent, as he was not even a part of second battalion, and therefore had no business here. Her smile didn't fade a bit, but the laughter in her eyes had disappeared, leaving her very looking very absent from herself. The lively look on her face was gone, as well, but no one noticed because no one in the room had ever seen her as she normally was. They assumed that this was just her, and that was all they needed to know. Only, Sobel had a slightly different idea of what he needed to know.

"Sir, permission to speak, sir," he said, his eyes still on her.

"Granted."

"Wh-Why is… Why is Easy Company to be the company with a woman in it, sir?" Sobel's gaze had moved back to Sink now, a quizzical look in his large eyes. Sink seemed to take a bit of offence at his comment, seeing as how he was the brilliant man who would be the first to train a female surgical 'paratrooper' in his regiment.

"Why the hell not," Colonel Sink barked, "She's qualified, Herbert, and I recall her records saying she saved one of your men's life last week. You should be proud to have her in your company – to have her looking out for you and your men. Have you ever heard about a female surgeon in the 101st Airborne?"

"No, no sir. That was why I was asking," Sobel blinked a few times, befuddled at the Colonel's remark. He was really all for her joining his men, and from what he saw in the man's eyes, he would not have it any other way. Sobel turned his gaze slowly to her, hugely unhappy with his current predicament, as well as his life at the moment.

She stood in the corner next to Major Strayer, trying to keep her smile on despite her company (though he didn't realize that). She smiled even wider at him when their eyes locked, causing him to look away quickly and stare at his feet. He didn't know what was going on in her mind. Would she yell at him in front of his own men again? Would she whine and moan about how hard he trained the men? He had high standards, and if she couldn't keep up with them, he had to lower them just for her. He would be slacking on his job if he did that. How could he let the men get so out of shape for one woman? A woman who had yelled at him, no less. By pushing his standard down, he would be letting her win without a choice.

"Captain Sobel," she spoke gently, getting the full attention of all the men in the room. None of them had heard her voice that soft before, "Sir, I want to be treated just like any other man in the company. Please don't feel you have to be soft on them just for me – I'm used to hard work. Well, maybe not as tough as army training, but still, I'm no push over. But please, let me be the eyes and ears for their medical attention, and I promise I won't be a problem, sir."

He smiled; he was off the hook, "Yes, of course. I just hope you can keep up with my men, Doctor Finnegan."

"Well, for my sake, I hope I will be able to, too," she laughed slightly.

"Well now, Herbert, you're dismissed. Good luck telling the men about her." Colonel Sink grinned as Sobel stood. He saluted Colonel Sink and nodded, walking out the door as fast as he could without turning back, and only barely getting in a salute to Major Strayer.

She looked towards Colonel Sink, wondering what was going to come next after this meeting. Strayer had been silent the entire time, which wasn't all that helpful to her. Clifford had asked Strayer for a favor, and that favor was to watch her when he couldn't be around. Apparently, Strayer took that a little bit _too_ literally and now did nothing but stare at her in silence.

"Alright, Strayer, bring her to the file rooms and have her fill out the necessary forms. Make sure you place an order for a dog tag for her, and, uh," Sink cut himself off, a new question popping up into his mind. "Miss Finnegan, what do you think you're going to wear?"

"Well sir, I'm fine with whatever the men are wearing. I'm used to wearing pants back home, but I'm not too sure that they're used to seeing women dress like them," she let out a little giggle. "Really, I'll wear whatever you want me to wear, as long as it's easy to move in and easy to wash."

"Hm. Good. Get her two pairs of P.T gear, and two pair of the smallest jumpsuit you can find as well. Oh, and what's your shoe size?"

"I'm an eight," she looked at her feet as soon as Colonel Sink's eyes went wide with surprise. She was a size eight. Her feet were normal-sized she thought. Were her Irish roots coming back to haunt her? What had she done to anger her long-lost ancestors!? She was an eight, and she always thought that that was normal for someone of her height. Was it not right? Was she bigfoot all of a sudden? Oh, goodness, no. Her army nickname would be 'Sasquatch' or 'Big Foot' if this was true!

"You don't look like an eight, Miss Finnegan. Major Strayer is an eight," Sink glanced at Strayer's feet, causing him to look down as well. They then proceeded to stare at her feet, turning their heads at the same time.

"I'm certain my feet are an eight. I've always been an eight, ever since seventh grade."

"By God, you must have looked like Sasquatch if that's true," Sink gaped. This had to be the most un-army-like conversation she had ever heard of; discussing feet. "Just let her try on the boots first, Strayer. I don't think she really is an eight. Oh, an' Strayer, make sure to get her medical supplies and whatnot."

"Yes, sir," Strayer nodded and held open the door for her to go first. She smiled and gave him a quick nod as a thank-you for holding the door for her. After walking out into the hallway, she turned left, assuming that that was where they were heading.

"Other way," Strayer called. She immediately turned on her heel and began marching in the other direction towards the Major, and fell in step behind him. She wondered just how much more paperwork she'd have to fill out until she was able to transfer. After that file room incident at the hospital, she didn't want to see another file cabinet in her entire life, let alone another paper; she had been scarred for life.

"Major Strayer, sir, do you mind if I ask you something?" she questioned. He nodded his head briefly. "Um, well, how much paper work do I have to fill out, exactly? More than one page?"

"For your case, Miss Finnegan, I think it'll be about three pages since you're not enlisting into the army as a soldier. But we'll need you to sign a life insurance policy, as well as a contract for the Army, so make that five pages. I don't think you'll need the life insurance quite yet, but it's better to have it over with sooner than later. As for the contract into the army," he had just about read her mind. "You'll need that to be qualified as a field surgeon. Since you're not a soldier, the Army has no ties with you and you would be considered an innocent by-stander with surgical abilities. We wouldn't be able to take you on jumps, into combat, nowhere where we would need you."

She nodded in understanding. This entire thing was a lot more complicated than she had previously thought. Contracts, life insurance, and three more pages of random paperwork? She thought a transfer order was just a piece of paper, and then **BAM**, you were where you wanted to be. This was all starting to make her regret her decision, but if this is what it took to keep that man under check, she supposed she could make it through. It seemed odd to her that her only happy thought of getting through this was to train under Captain Sobel, alongside his company. The war was starting to get to her.

Strayer led her into a large file room, larger that the room back in the hospital, and a heck of a lot cleaner, too. She stared at the shiny cabinets, the neatly organized files that were in sight, and the perfectly organized and neat desk that lay in the center. It was beautiful. Not a single coffee cup or tie was left on the ground, no stains or multiple six inch stacks of paper, either. She was so caught up in the moment of seeing a filing room so beautiful that she failed to hear Major Strayer telling her which forms were which. It was so odd to her. A file room like this only existed in her dreams; she never knew cabinets could be so shiny.

"…negan. Miss Finnegan," a voice interrupted her from her daze, one she recognized to be Major Strayer's voice. "Were you paying attention?"

"Oh," she puffed, "You have a very neat filing room here, Major. Where were we again? I was thinking of a patient of mine, you see. Very ill – almost died twice on me in surgery, and he wanted to go to war so badly! Poor man."

"Well I'm very sorry for the man," he had a horridly blank look upon his face as he said this, "But, Miss, I need you to fill out these papers for me. It's simple – your name, home address, heritage, family, education. I'll go get your life insurance papers and contract while you're busy."

He handed her a small packet of papers and proceeded to leave the room. She sat down at the desk and grabbed a pencil, ready to sentence herself to complete oblivion. Strayer paused in the doorway as if suddenly remembering something, and looked back at her.

"Finnegan." His voice interrupted her thoughts

"Yes, sir?" she looked up, attempting to make sure her abhorrence for paperwork was as hidden as it could be.

"What size are you?" he gaze went over her body, informing her that he was referring to her clothing size. What size was she in men's clothing? Her mama had always made the pants she had worn around the farm – heck, they were hand-me-downs from her brothers from when they were younger. And when it came to skirts and dresses, she had always shared a wardrobe with her neighbor, Anna Lisa – who despite the fact that they were two completely different heights and weight – her exact body twin in terms of measurements. Even her neighbor's shoes fit her like a glove!

"Uh, oh," she mumbled. "I think I'd be more on the small side, sir. But I'm fine with whatever you have, as long as it doesn't fall down on me."

He nodded and walked out the door. She wondered why he was such a straight-laced man. All of the men she had met before him seemed to stand out a bit in their own ways, even Sink. But Strayer seemed to be an all business man with no time to think about anything other than what he needed to get done, which she supposed would be a valuable quality in his ranking position. She quickly turned her mind back to the paperwork, having not even started yet.

_First name, Middle initial(s), Surname.  
_

She quickly filled these in. She had to put in her initials as well, laughing as she did so.

_J.E.F.F.  
_

This was starting to look like a girl posing as a man in the army, and failing horribly. Shaking that thought from her mind, she quickly scanned over the rest of the page to find it was just as Major Strayer had told her – simple. She quickly finished the first page with her newfound writing abilities she had gained from the file room at the hospital, and soon turned to the second page. This page was a bit odd. It wasn't the 'simple' questions he had told her about – it was all about men. _Men. _They had many questions starting with, 'What would you do if….', and of course, her favourite question, 'How do you plan to cope with the possibility of death?'. She quickly scribbled down the answer she thought most true and appropriate,

'_The same way I cope with my ten brothers – payback is a female dog.'  
_

Seventeen minutes later found herself filling the last pages with words, most of which she thought were quite obvious, and others not so much. She absolutely abhorred paper work. It was official. After this packet of papers, she would never file or fill out another paper as long as she lived. Not even a patient's medical chart; she'd just let the doctors guess what medicines her patient was allergic to via trial and error. When she had children, she would absolutely never sign a field trip slip. Never ever.

A knock on the door frame made her jump, causing her to poke a hole in the paper with her pencil. There was a little chuckle from a voice she had never heard before. She looked up and was surprised to see a man standing the doorway, his smile like a giant, laughing smirk, staring at her. It was no surprise to her; at the sound of the knock she had almost fallen out of the chair. She attempted to smile, but seeing the laughter increasing in the man's eyes just told her how horribly she had failed. He was tall with dark hair, and had a twinkle playing in his eyes that rivaled even that of George Luz's.

"Didn't think anyone used this dump anymore," he walked in after he had finished his little laughter session. She kept her gaze locked on him, wondering who he was and what he was doing here. "Don't mind me, Miss Finnegan. I'm just here to pick something up."

* * *

**-GASPITIES- WHO IS THIS MYSTERIOUS MAN WITH THE TWINKLE IN HIS EYE AND THE SMIRK ON HIS FACE THAT'S REALLY A SMILE THAT'S TALL AND LAUGHING AT HER AND THERE TO PICK SOMETHING UP!? **

**....You'll find out next time ;) Not much of a cliffhanger, I know, I know, but it will have to do m'dears! And also, BAHAHAHA! I gave you a hint to her REAL name. And you thought you already knew it... Heehee ;D**

**So my big sister and I were hanging out today and we got onto the discussion of my story, so I told her she had to watch Band of Brothers with me if she wanted to read my story. She loves it now (both story and movie/mini-series), and now can't say 'Luz' with a straight face. Try biting your ear and hitting your shoulder while saying 'Luz' with a lisp (what sadistic bastard came up with that word!?). It's entertaining. :D**

**Notes:**

**1) VOTE YOUR FAVOURITE PAIRING IF YOU HAVEN'T YET! New feature: Even 'anonymous' voters will be tallied! YAY FOR EQUALITY! :D**

**2) I may have written 'Colonel Strayer' instead of 'Major Strayer' a few times... My mistake. I forgot he wasn't a Lt. Colonel until... uh... whenever he became one.**

**3) J.E.F.F - it's ALL of her names. Her full name, as in... First name, Middle name, Second Middle name, Surname :) AND IT SPELLS JEFF!! So, to clear it up for you, her name starts with a 'J', middle name with an 'E', second middle name 'F', and last name, as we all know (or should know), is 'Finnegan'.**

**4) Shoes sizes! Since they didn't have women in the army yet, they only carried men's boots. Those are about 2 sizes smaller then women's shoes (or so I'm told. Once again, if this is wrong, I blame the creator of the internet.), so when she told them she was an eight, they thought she meant men's shoe sizes. She thought they were talking about women's shoe sizes... I hope she learns.**


	5. Second Thoughts

**Author's Note: **Hello, all! I'm so sorry I'm late... I meant to finish this yesterday and post it as a semi-gift to you. You are all so amazing! Thank you, thank you, thank you for all the feedback you've given me, especially you anonymous folk. As a kind of new feature, your votes will now be tallied for you ideal heart throb of the story. EQUALITY FOR ALL! Heehee. I'm sorry, this chapter seems a bit rushed, but I like it C:

Anyways, I know that this story isn't able in any ways to be dedicated to those who have fought for this country through thick and thin, snow and sand, but I'd like to say a few words about them. Without them, we may not have had a Forth of July to celebrate, and I may not have been able to write this, so cheers to them. :) / cheeziness

Moving on! Ah, well, I haven't exactly had this proof-read yet, so excuse the grammer! I'll have a betterly edditid version up tomorrow.

**Disclaimer: I do not own nor claim to own Band of Brothers or the real men of Easy Company. **I only own 'J.E.F.F/Izzie' and her amazingly humungo family.

* * *

She stared at him with eyes like moonstones, never blinking, hardly breathing, and very, very confused. Being confused was not something new to her; it was becoming a close friend of hers, much to her dismay. She clenched the fabric of her dress in her fist with her left hand as she tried to think of where she knew him from – if she even knew him – and where he had learned her name. George? Floyd? Liebgott? No – they don't seem the type to brag about knowing a farm girl. Clifford, maybe? One of her other brothers?

"Oh. Lieutenant Lewis Nixon, Miss Finnegan," he smiled. "I know a few of your brothers. Twins look just like you."

If even possible, her eyes went wider at this statement, "You're kidding me," she breathed.

"Nah, saw you in Colonel Sink's office and was wondering what occasion would make Davis wear a dress, 'course then I realized it _was_ Davis I was thinking about," he winked playfully at her, telling her that he was just playing around. "So when I came in here and saw it was you, I was pretty shocked to see that there was another Finnegan in the camp. You're a girl, and they're not."

"You're a sharp one, sir," she let the sarcasm drip from her tongue freely. Never had she met someone this relaxed on their first meeting before. "I take it from that statement that you were an unnamed witness when Davis and Jason switched uniforms and for a day…?"

"Oh, yeah. Never saw Sparky so P.O'd before," he laughed. "But, from what I saw that day, it was completely worth it. Just wish those boys were in Easy with us – they'd kill Sobel at breakfast and blame it on Hitler, I swear. But, uh, having you in Easy is gonna be a nice change. Not too sure about the last time I heard somebody yelled at Sobel and got away with it."

She watched in silence as the man pulled a bottle of whiskey out from behind a mass of files, trying to figure out how he had heard about her exploding at Sobel so quickly. It was true, George had been there as well as Clifford, and knowing Clifford he would have told someone in the family to brag about his favorite sibling, but there was no telling who. Depending on who he told, it would either stay between those two, or the entire camp would know. She voted it to be Neil, her blabber-mouthed, directly older brother. Lewis poured the amber liquid into a small metal flask before sealing it back up and placing it behind the files once more. He took a few swigs from the flask and screwed the cap back on, placing it in his breast pocket just in time as Major Strayer came marching back into the room with various and sundry items in his arms.

"Lieutenant Nixon," he gave a curt nod to Lewis, who returned it with a salute, "Miss Finnegan, I've got your P.T gear here in a size small, and two pairs of boots, one is a six and the other is a five, your contract, and your life insurance. The jumpsuit will be in by tomorrow morning, so you can come and pick that up around noon."

He set her new things down on the desk with a loud 'thud' and handed her the papers he was holding. She looked over the items on the desk, a little bit surprised at how everything just seemed to be coming together for her after she had just concluded that it would have taken a few weeks to get this together. She read over the contract while Major Strayer and Lieutenant Nixon began talking about something regarding something else she didn't quite understand, and finally after reaching the end of the paper, she deemed it worthy of her time and money, and signed it in ink.

After taking a good look and both pairs of boots, she decided she would just try both on at once – one on the left foot and one on the right. They both looked to be about the same size as the shoes that she wore, but she wasn't completely sure. As soon as she had both shoes on, though, she was completely sure about one thing…

"How do you run in these hell holes?" she asked, making a horrid face as she tried walking in them. Lewis and Major Strayer looked up from their serious conversation, and admittedly, Lewis looked very much relieved when she started talking.

"Well, we put them on, lace 'em up, tie 'em in a pretty bow, and—"

"Soak them in hot water tonight, and wear them to bed," Strayer interrupted. "They'll fit by morning. Miss Finnegan, what do you plan on doing with your hair when you train? Can't curl it at that length."

"I don't have time to curl it regardless," she started fingering her thick, short hair, realizing now why those women had stared the way they did when she walked past them earlier today. Her hair was straight, short, and hardly styled. Their hair was neatly curled, parted on the side, and either held up in a curly bun, or pinned to the side, like every other woman in America.

"I'll wear it as it is?" she wondered out loud.

"Grow it out, and learn to put it in a bun. How are you gonna see if there's a mess of hair on both side of your eyes?"

She looked violently back and forth between her left side and her right after his implication of her having wild-child hair. She saw his point. So much for that 'life-changing' barber trip she took back home.

"And also, Finnegan," Strayer continued, "Talk to a nurse about getting some pain killers for when you start training the day after tomorrow. Colonel Sink expects you to be the finest female surgeon in the entire Airborne, and he can't have you dropping out on him."

"Sir," Lewis cleared his throat, "She's the only female surgeon in the Airborne."

His eyes darted to the dark haired man, as if to say something involving him being 'Lt. Obvious'. Lewis raised an eyebrow and stared at his feet, hoping to avoid the Major's gaze. He was right, after all, although she wasn't necessarily in the Airborne exactly. She worked for the Airborne, but apparently in Sink's mind, he took it into his own hands and signed her up for the Army. It was bad enough that she had requested to work with Easy Company under Sobel, but now she was expected to be just as manly as all the other men there, meaning she'd be expected to keep up. He thought Sink had some crazy ideas, but this had to be his craziest.

He let his eyes wander over the files that were neatly organized in alphabetical order, smirking slightly when he saw the ten 'Finnegan' file lined up, and proceeded to wander toward the strawberry blonde who was fumbling with her locks. She was disappointed, he could see that, and still in pain from the boots that still clung to her feet. The paperwork on the desk didn't seem to help her mood much. Catching her gaze for a second, he smiled at her, giving his best smirk in return for a shy, rose-tinted smile. It didn't last long, though, as something seemed to click in her mind, telling her something she had missed was actually very important. She snapped her head up and stared at Major Strayer, astonished at what had just clicked in her head.

"I start the day after tomorrow?" she gawked.

"Yes, Miss Finnegan," he gave a curt nod before saying something about filing her contract and papers, leaving her to her thoughts. She furrowed her brow and frowned, as if still not getting that _yes_, she would start the day after tomorrow to train with the men. Major Strayer just had the softest way about him; she just loved how subtle and relaxed he was.

"Lieutenant Nixon, Colonel Sink wants to talk with you," Strayer called over his shoulder. Lewis looked up and made a humorous face towards her, mimicking someone strangling him with his tie, earning a stifled laugh from her. He quickly fixed his tie and took another swig from his flask before turning to her.

"Uh, Miss Finnegan, you might want to make sure when you meet Lieutenant Winters that you're decently and modestly dressed." Lewis informed her.

She looked down at her button-up blue dress to see if there was anything that was unbuttoned, but everything was as it should be.

She looked back up at him curiously, "Is he really that desperate?"

"Some might say so, yes,"

"Should I wear a coat?" she gasped. Her new Lieutenant: a creepy, desperate, perverted man that she was to share a housing unit with. Clifford, Strayer, and Sink had all agreed that she was to house with him because apparently he was a 'respectable man', and just a good man over all. Did they realize that they had just signed her onto Hell's VIP guest list?

"I would even wear a scarf if I were you,"

"I'm going to be housing with Lieutenant Winters, Lewis, sir."

"Second thought, wear a chastity belt,"

"Oh, sweet Jesus."

* * *

The next night had her worrying herself to no end. She was excited, nervous, anxious, and partially scared. She was scared in that she would be sharing a housing unit with Lieutenant Winters – the desperate man with no morals – and that she might drop out of training on her first try. She didn't know exactly what to expect, and for that matter she wasn't too sure if she wanted to know or not. Sobel was a madman when it came to training; she and her brothers would only go so far in a race, so long in a football game, and so far in a game of chase. What had she done? She wanted out, _now._ She didn't want to do something stupid in front of George or Joe and Floyd, and especially Alex and Skip. She was scared. What if she couldn't keep up with them; what if Sobel hated her and tried breaking her, or God forbid – _**dating**_ her?

How could she think of a sick romance like that at a time like this?! She was about to be sentenced to her doom in six hours, and she was thinking about dating the man she was trying to protect her friends from?

She whirled around, completely disgusted with herself, only to have her oh-so-magical dizzy feeling cast itself upon her, bring it' close friend nausea along on the trip with it as well. She threw herself on the ground; sitting Indian style, and covering her mouth with her hands and closing her eyes, she said a prayer to God that this would all just be some silly dream. It was the first prayer she had said to Him in a long time that came from the dark, forbidden depths of her heart. She hoped she would wake up in the near future, asleep in some sort of cottage with a fever which caused the odd dreams, and her dashingly handsome husband would be there to nurse her back to health. Later it would be only to discover that she had indeed been paralyzed from the hips down, and could only go out in a wheelchair from that moment on. No more Airborne, no more heights, no more Captain Sobel, no more spinning.

_No more fear.  
_

It was a perfect plan, and hopefully it would come true. Her brothers would pity her and never spin her around again, and they would be gentlemen to her, and bring her flowers and her mama's famous cherry pie on Sundays, and she would never have to walk again.

_If only.  
_

She slowly pulled her knees up to her chest, and buried her face in her hands.

What was she doing?

What had she done?

A steady flow of salty tears began dripping down her face, and every bit of her seemed to be so weak all of a sudden. This wasn't the girl that had yelled at Sobel, snapped at Clifford, or even cried into who she now knew as George Luz – no, this was some completely different creature. A weak, scrawny, lost little girl who could hardly believe in herself and what she was about to do the next day. She was nervous; what if they didn't like her? She was scared; she didn't want to be out-done by her brothers, laughed at by her friends for her physical incapability, or even be there. She wanted it to be over with, done, and never spoken of again. What if she ended up losing all her friends in a single battle, or while she was performing their surgery? What if it was she who was to blame for a death? What if she couldn't keep them from Sobel's idiotic killing regimen?

_What if?  
_

Her freckles seemed to be like glitter in the pale moonlight, sparkling with their owner's own questions, as well as twinkling with their own. The streaks that fell down her cheeks seared her skin with each new drop, as her strawberry hair began clumping with the tears it absorbed. Slowly, her lip began trembling, and small squeaks escaped her lips every now and then. Her head fell against the wall, fatigued in everything that had been going through it. Her glassy eyes closed slowly, whispering to her to take the much-needed sleep they were offering to her that she had been begging God for since she had started the nightshift in the E.R, two and a half weeks ago, precisely.

The dawn woke her violently that morning. It shed much more light than needed to wake the pale girl from her dreams, earning a very loud 'Ow' upon the contact of her bum and the hardwood floor. She sighed and rubbed her bum tenderly, afraid she would bruise and not be able to sleep on that side the coming night. Oh, dear Lord. What about today!?

She raced out of the room she was staying in, across the hall, and into the bathroom, slamming the door behind her. Her stomach had decided to empty itself of its contents before she even had time to think. What a good omen. In two hours, she was to be assigned to Easy Company and begin training. She didn't want this anymore. She wanted to go home – _her_ home in Wallowa, Oregon. She wanted to be back with her brothers, joking and teasing each other, racing each other to the Ice Cream parlor, and learning to 'cook' from her neighbor and sister-in-law, Anna Lisa. Training suddenly seemed so… Stupid compared to what she ought to be doing as a lady.

_Stupid war.  
_

She ought to be at home, knitting with her mama and grandma, talking about all the local news on the war that they had heard about, and praying in Mass for her brothers who had gone off to join the Airborne. She shouldn't be here. She didn't belong here. She was a woman for Pete's sake – a woman technically in the Airborne, but basically not in the Airborne, merely working for the Army. She should be at home, with her pregnant sister-in-law, Anna Lisa, knitting booties for her future niece of nephew. She ought to be at Mass, or in a confessional, telling the priest something from seven years ago that she had just remembered and decided to bring up, because she did _not_ want to go to hell. Heck, she should be planning a small birthday party for herself with her mama and Anna Lisa in a few days.

She needed to be here, and she hated that. She needed to be with her brothers; she couldn't bear a day without seeing at least one of them. They annoyed her and enjoyed watching her fume at them, but she loved that. She loved them. Every prank they had pulled on her or she on them made her life story; campfire stories is what she was a living description of. Life would be horridly boring without them, and she knew that. More importantly, she _realized _this. She had to be with them, end of story.

And her new friends – they needed her here, as well. That madman had almost gotten one of his men killed due to his huge ego that made the titanic jealous, and his ignorance that did not bring him the least amount of bliss. She was able to do something about him – however small it was – and now that the time to do something about it had arrived, she found herself wanting to be anywhere but here. She couldn't stand this. If she went, there would be no turning back, no matter how agonizingly painful it may be. If she stayed here in the hospital, her brothers would never let her live this down, and she would be labeled the wimp and chicken of the family.

She could _not_ let her brothers outdo her. No, sir. She had to do this, but she wanted to go back to sleep, under the cold sheets of the bed, and stay there. She wanted a place to hide until everyone had gone from here, left from Camp Toccoa, and gone wherever the war was. Her heart pounded harder each second, a new idea forming in her head of a different way to run away from this every other second. And in those seconds when she wasn't thinking about running away, she would think about following through on this. She had to think this over more. She had two hours; it wasn't impossible.

But first, a hot shower and a nice cup of coffee to start the day would be good. Maybe a pastry had been left for her by the family she was quartered with, as they all seemed to love sweets here.

* * *

She stared at the man who stood in front of her, shocked by what she saw. He was tall, lean, and had a gorgeous head of red hair, as well as a pair of eyes equally as bright as hers, if not more. She adjusted her army-given jacket that she wore, flipped the collar up over her neck, and shuffled her feet awkwardly in the silence that hung about her. He was too busy listening to Sobel bark orders to him and the rest of Easy Company to notice anything wrong with her, which startled her a bit. She had imagined a man with a little more muscle, with hugely dark hair that was slicked to the side, a toothbrush mustache, and… Well, to be honest with herself, she was imagining Hitler as Dick Winters before today.

The look on their faces was priceless. As soon as Sobel had announced that she was to be their company's surgeon, there was not one straight face in the entire assembly of Easy Company. Sobel's face was hugely distraught; a promotion could not shake him from his current state. George Luz was grinning like a child now, seeing the faces among the men with jaws dropped and eyes wide, and particularly Malarkey looked rather dumbfounded by this all. He was going to meet and serve with _the_ Miss Oregon – and she was going to be their personal surgeon, train with them, and live with them. His day could not get better. Stifling this huge amount of laughter was not easy for Lewis Nixon, but he managed to contain it somehow. His eyes seemed to be showing it, though; as she spotted him she started smiling in her famously lively, laughing way. George wasn't at all surprised by this, no sir. He knew Miss Oregon would somehow end up with the paratroopers, whether she already was (and was really Malarkey, as was his first suspicion before meeting her in person), or whether she would find her way to Easy Company some other way, he didn't know. All he cared about was the five bucks Perconte owed him, and getting to see and know Izzie more.

"I have direct orders from Major Finnegan, as well as Colonel Sink," Sobel barked. Their faces immediately changed into emotionless masks, but George was still smiling slightly. Lewis Nixon stood, smirking ever so slightly, with that little twinkle playing in his eyes once more. He winked playfully at her as she stood in the fully awkward spotlight that every man disliked, and he could only guess that any girl, especially herself, would feel more awkward standing on the jeep with Sobel by her side.

"Easy Company," Sobel began again. "You are to treat Doctor Finnegan as you would any other man in this company. She is still a woman and any suggestive comments or inappropriate behavior will get your weekend pass revoked, and you _will_ be double timing Curahee, full pack in the dark. I'll expect record time gentlemen. Understood?"

"**Sir, yes, sir!"  
**

It had been decided by all three of the higher ups, including Clifford, that since she wanted to share a housing unit with the men, Lieutenant Winters would be choice. He was a respectable man, followed orders, and most importantly, Colonel Sink said he had always led the men in P.T very nicely. Clifford was satisfied with that answer, and though he had not met Dick Winters personally, he agreed that he would be the best choice.

She, however, was not satisfied with that choice. Lieutenant Winters was a man with flaming red hair (who in the world would have flaming red hair and the surname 'Winters'?), a respectable mask, but she knew that deep down inside him, he was a creeper. She had worn her jacket, just like Lewis had told her, and evidently it was actually cold that day, so it paid off in more ways than one. She had worn her scarf under it as well, to hide her neck, and by golly she looked like an idiot. It was a plain black scarf, but nevertheless, it wasn't _that_ cold outside. Being the near end of October, it was still a bit warmer than November, and a scarf was more than anyone needed right now.

Sobel had given the company one last bark before leaving them to go to a meeting. Standing on the hood of a jeep was not her idea of a proper introduction, but the man had his ways. She was eyeing the ground, trying to get herself to just jump off the darn thing because then it would just be all over. She started shuffling her feet and thought about all the different ways she could jump off. One involved sitting, the other flying, and another involved locating her nearest friend and jumping on his back. Overall, she was not getting anywhere close to coming down from the hood. It was such a far distance from the hood of the jeep to the ground – four feet to be exact. She hated heights, and she hated that all her brothers had signed up for the Airborne. Perfectly good airplanes and perfectly good seats gone to waste was what that was. In her mind, they should have signed up for the actual Army instead of the Paratroopers, but she knew they had signed up for the paratroopers because number one, they knew she would somehow want to tag along with them, secondly because you get paid more, and lastly you get to jump out of airplanes and be as they would have said, 'bad asses'.

A warm hand slid itself around hers, holding it firmly. She glanced up and saw the creeper himself, Lieutenant Winters, holding her hand for her to jump off, like a true gentleman. What had Lewis meant when he had called him a creeper? She took his hand obligingly and stepped down – none too gracefully, one might add – and realized that the fall had not been as bad as she had imagined it to be.

* * *

**Wow! I had your Nixon scene and a little Winters scene ALL IN ONE CHAPTER! Happy? I think I could have done a better Nixon scene, but, meh... It'll have to do.**

**I wanted to show in this chapter that she was human, she wasn't perfectly strong or mature, and to get a better look into the 1940's. Woman back then were expected to stay home and raise their families, not go off and train with men for the war. She's different, yes, but she was still raised in that culture, and I wanted to show it. I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and I apologize for any mistakes and whatnot in here.**

**Leave me some feedback love? C:**

**Notes:**

**1) VOTE. VOTE. VOTE. Even second voting is allowed! :D I want to see who you think she should end up with. As said before, I will add a little 'scene' with each person that has a tally sheet to let you get a small look at what I've planned their relationship out to be. **

**2) HEIGHTS. Yes, as THE DEADLY ANGEL pointed out in a review, "Why would someone who's afraid of heights join the Airborne?". I have your answer. She's not afraid of heights, she just doesn't like them. There's a difference, I swear! And also, when you have an older sibling, you're trapped in their shadow. Being raised with nine older siblings, she had a lot of shadows over her, so she's very competitive with them. She doesn't want to be left behind, so she tagged along. :) I hope that explained a little...**


	6. First and Third Thoughts

**Author's Note:** It's a rough draft, but I think it was time I updated. I'll edit it tomorrow :)

Thank you, thank you, thank you!! You are all so amazing!! Thank you for all your support, reviews, alerts, and favourites! You always make my day :)

_A special thanks to my anonymous reviewers: You are incredible. Seriously. Thank you for taking the time to review my story! It honest to goodness means a lot to me. I wish I could reply to you, I've got so many things to thank you for!!_

I'm so sorry if they're out of character - I tried really hard in this chapter. So, enjoy!

**Disclaimer: I do not own nor claim to own Band of Brothers or the real men of Easy Company. ** I only own JEFF/Izzie and her mentally disturbed family.

* * *

He watched with a smirk as Dick helped her down from the jeep's hood. What a gentleman, holding her hand and everything. He could even see the silence that cast itself over them as their eyes met and locked for a brief moment. He chuckled to himself as he realized that she had worn everything he suggested, minus the chastity belt. Army jacket, zipped up to its highest point at the jaw line with a black wool scarf tucked underneath it. That scarf was a winter scarf, not a fall scarf. It was noticeably thick, and he could definitely tell that she was sweating under it.

He decided that it was time to break up the lovely couple by disrupting their gazes with a hand between their faces. Both of them stared at the hand waving in front of them for a split second before turning away from each other. He smirked. They were both blushing. She went to turn and get her bag that was where the jeep used to be, but fell backwards, sprawled on the dirt road like a casualty. The reason for this was simple – she had forgotten that she still held Winters' hand in hers, which had evidently yanked her back as she walked forward.

"Nice, Dick, real nice," he chuckled, setting his gaze on the strawberry blonde who didn't look too comfortable down there. He held out his hand to her, attempting to make up for his friend's idiocy, which she took thankfully. The men had been watching as soon as she fell over, but George had seen all of it. He was laughing hysterically and trying to explain to Skip what had just happened, but nothing could be heard over his uncontainable guffaw. He had gotten to the point with Izzie where if she sneezed in the next room, George would know it was her. Partially because she was the only lady he knew who sneezed like an elephant, and partially because she was usually the only lady who was awake during the hours he usually spent with her.

She stood up and dusted herself off and in the process of doing so she merely made her new uniform even dirtier. She frowned slightly at the new dirt stain.

"Miss Finnegan, Dick Winters," Nixon introduced. She smiled and shook his warm hand, this time letting go before it seemed to be overly friendly. But by God, he must have had some of the most stunning eyes she had ever seen. She was afraid she might not be able to look away and once again have to have that hand wave in front of her face to catch her attention.

"I've heard a lot about you from Nixon," he returned her smile with a warm, shy smile of his own.

"Yep," Lewis confirmed. "Not every day do you meet a young lady who's going to become your field surgeon; we couldn't afford having another Sobel in the company, ya' know."

"Sobel," she repeated his name as if to savor it somehow. "He's not exactly what… Um, how should I put this? He's not exactly—"

"Human." Lewis finished for her. She gave a small sigh as she realized that he had summed it up perfectly for her. Sobel was the devil reincarnated into a tall, twenty-seven year-old, idiotic, incompetent ass. There was no other way to say it.

"Er, that's a…" she trailed off, knowing that her politeness would not hold up for long. "That wasn't exactly the word I would have used, but it's pretty darn close."

"See?" Lewis nudged his friend in the side. "I told you she was perfect for Easy Company. Oh, uh, Finn, you'll learn quick 'round here. Dick's got no vices, no sense of humor, no girl…"

He was hit over the head mid-sentence by a very red Dick, who seemed more shocked at what he had just done than Lewis was. She glared at Lewis as a wave of realization washed over her. He seemed to be good friends with Dick, and the mischievous type, therefore…

"Dick is _not_ a creeper," she stated, putting particular emphasis on the words 'not' and 'creeper'. She poked her finger into his chest, making him stagger back a bit, "You lied, Lewis!"

"Yeah, Nix," Dick looked at his friend funny. Was Lewis responsible for her odd attire? He was beginning to think so. "What's this about me being a creeper?"

By now all of Easy company had stopped their conversing and turned their ears to the trio's conversation, tuning in, however, right as she had told Lewis that Dick was _not_ a creeper. Thoughts began racing through their minds on what Dick had done to earn that status in Lewis's mind, and many of the men wore a very disturbed face because of that. Denver 'Bull' Randleman, one of the smartest men in the company according to Lieutenant Winters, shook his head at them and just continued watching them to see what they would do next. She was of average height for a woman, had a very nice head of hair (although he disagreed with the length and cut), and freckles. He had not seen freckles on a girl since he could remember, and he had to say, she wore them pretty damn well. By the way she was holding her bag, he could see the muscles in her arms – slightly, but they were still there – and knew right then and there that she was the twins' little sister, Izzie.

Not a soul in camp had not heard of the Finnegan twins. And most of the enlisted men had to admit that even for men, they were pretty darn immature. Firstly, if there was any sort of prank that went on with the higher-ups, the men knew it had been Davis and Jason who had been behind it. A prank to an officer was like a note saying 'Love, D+J', but the men kept quiet about it and never said a word to the said officer, just so they could continue to have a laugh about it. Someone had itching powder in their socks? Davis and Jason. Someone had missed a meeting because there was a pig loose? Davis and Jason. Someone fell for an attractive 'dame'? That was simply Davis.

All the men knew they took training semi-seriously, were underachievers, and the funniest men you had ever met. They were hard to stand at times, but most of the men were used to that and usually brought along a few other men to take some of the stress away. The twins had this thing for bragging about their little sister, Izzie, whenever they had the chance. They absolutely adored her as good brothers should, and some of the men that the twins had told about her knew her so well they could point her out in a crowd full of strawberry blonde girls with freckles – Bull being one of those men.

When he saw her there, standing on the hood of the jeep in front of him, he knew that it was Izzie. He knew what she was there for, and most likely why she was there. The story of a surgeon yelling at Sobel had not been kept a secret among the men, and the stories of Miss Oregon were always something the men used to brighten their days. It was something all the men could enjoy because she wasn't just a 'one-night stand' or anything like that. She was a mystery to them, and a bright and cheerful one at that. The men would go off in their own worlds to imagine what she was, who she was, and what she really looked like despite the detailed report that Liebgott, Talbert, Muck, and Penkala had given them. Her story had grown old after a while, and became a faint whisper but suddenly resurfaced after a night a little over two weeks ago when Christenson had been rushed to the hospital due to _Captain Sobel.  
_

Bull knew that something inside her had clicked, and if she was what Davis and Jason had described her to be, she would have exploded at him upon hearing the story of why they were so late in getting Christenson to the hospital. And now, he imagined that her current predicament here in Easy was somehow related to that incident, as the twins had mentioned a few times of Izzie's odd compassion towards things. That was one of the reasons why they never took her hunting unless she was absolutely and positively furious after they woke her up from sleeping. The other reason was their mama didn't approve, which meant that it was law she didn't go. She probably had heard some rumblings from Talbert, Liebgott, and George about the idiotic moron Sobel was, and how he was driving them almost to breaking point with his training.

He watched as Lieutenant Winters said something to only Izzie and Lieutenant Nixon before taking her bag from her and leading them to his humble cottage. She walked unlike any lady he had ever seen – her shoulders were at ease, her legs were at a normal pace, and she wasn't looking everywhere at once, or making eyes or eye contact with the other soldiers. She was so enwrapped in the conversation she was having with the two Commissioned Officers that she didn't even seem to feel the gazes that should have pierced the skin she was in. Every single member of Easy (minus Sobel) was staring at her. She was to be their surgeon, which gave them every right to stare at her – heck, they should be stalking her at every minute of the day from now on to make sure she measured up to Easy Company standards.

Would she really have what it took to be a member in Sobel's company? Would she just talk the talk, or would she really walk the sprint up Curahee and be a man about it? Bull had no idea. He had his doubts, just like almost every other man in the company. But Izzie, being the woman they had heard about, had given herself a bubble which the men would not try to pop unless she was completely like all the other women in American: female.

He turned back to his conversation with Jonny Martin and Bill Guarnere, "I don't know 'bout this."

"You're tellin' me," Bill huffed. "F—kin' broad in our f—kin' company! Don't care if she's 'Miss Oregon' or not – she's still a broad. Don't get me wrong here – havin' a girl around's gonna be nice, real nice, 'specially if she's everything Muck and Tab swear by. But she just gonna put a band-aid on us, give us a lollipop, tell us we're all better. 'Sides, you get a look at 'dat hair? What was 'dat?"

"She saved Christenson, Bill," Martin retorted at him. "Come on, give her a chance. After she crashes during the first run, you can yell at her all you want. And if she's still not gone after we set you on her, we can just uh, have Bull here body-slam her and she'll be in the hospital for life."

Bill let out a loud laugh, and Bull smirked a bit. He wasn't that completely doubtful of her, but he still wasn't sure about it.

"I guess I just wait den," Bill smirked. He could hardly wait for the end of the first run. She was going home, and they would be getting the proper surgeon that they needed, not some wussy farm girl. And what _was_ up with her hair? It was all straight… Straight hair existed on women in public? Bill was never aware of this. She looked sweet – he had to admit – but what would happen when the bullets start flying? Would she just hide behind the Quaker and stay there?

"Hey, Bull," Martin punched him in the shoulder, "Ease up, wouldjuh? What's got your panties in a knot?"

"What Bill was sayin'," Bull replied, lighting the cigar in his mouth. "She's a woman, and I don't trust 'em to get nothin' done but their hair." They all chuckled at this comment. It was so typical for a woman these days to brag and brag about things they could do, and once they actually tried doing these things, they'd fall on their butts and whine about how they messed up their hair. Well, at least that's how it went in Guarnere's mind, because that's just what his sisters would do. He hated that about broads. They were just so stubborn.

"Where she gonna change? Where she gonna shower?" Bill asked. "And where she gonna sleep? My sisters would kill if they was put on the dirt floor."

"With the rest of us," Bull rolled his eyes at him. Where else _would_ she change, shower, and sleep? At the hospital?

"With any luck," Martin muttered.

"Since when do women join armies?" a voice, hardly recognizable, came from behind Bull. They turned to see Joe Toye, staring at the house that she had just gone into, looking very P.O'd.

"Just what I was sayin'," Bill mumbled under his breath. "Now, Joe, seriously, tell Johnny why this is so pissy! 'Says he thinks we should give her a while 'til we can start yellin' at her."

"Funny," Johnny frowned, now staring at Bill, "You were just agreeing with me thirty seconds ago, Bill."

Bill looked to the ground quickly, trying to think of an excuse that sounded plausible, but failed. He continued to stare at the ground for a good twenty-five seconds, casting and awkward silence over the group. Bull decided something needed to change, and cleared his throat. He was just about to say something that would most likely knock some sense into the three men, when Miss Oregon, Liebgott, Luz, Talbert, Muck and Penkala came parading past them and towards the Mess Hall.

The new, sweet, 'cool' girl had already found a group of friends whom she liked, and now everyone who wasn't Izzie was cast aside by her new groupies and labeled as 'Chicken Shit'. Muck was walking backwards in front of Izzie, saying something about Niagara Falls, and when he paused, she burst out into a fit of laughter. They were going to breakfast to sit together, undoubtedly all getting the same drink and same food as she would get. It was pathetic. By her actions, she could decide what they ate, how they acted, and who they were. She was destroying the men already, and she hadn't even had her first run up Curahee yet. She was worse than Sobel in that manner. Not only could she control them, but they wouldn't know she was doing it.

Bill and Joe narrowed their eyes at the group while Johnny and Bull just started talking about this and that. Though, for a split second, her eyes seemed to light up upon locking eyes with Bill, whose eyes widened as big as the sun. There was something in that split moment that made him take back what he said about her being a broad, but the moment she broke her gaze with him it all came back to him – every single sentence to the periods and exclamation marks. It was the oddest feeling in the world, and he still to this day can't explain it. Something in hers eyes, her looks – something was there – and he couldn't make out what it was.

Determination?

Desire?

Confidence?

He didn't know.

They were all beginning to want breakfast, and as soon as Bill's stomach made that a known fact to the other men, they all admitted it as well and started off for the Mess Hall.

* * *

"Hey, come on, Izzie! Give me some credit there," Skip whined as he had finished his story about swimming Niagara River. She just shook her head a bit, knowing that if her brothers had swam that river, she would have been there with them in a heartbeat. Of course, she kept that to herself and just kept reassuring Skip that he was an idiot.

They had just met up with each other after Dick and Lewis had shown her around her new little 'home', as well as her new bed – and she had to confess that it looked a lot nicer than her bed back home – as well as talking to her about her new day schedule that started today. As soon as she had walked out of that little house, she was greeted by two of her long-lost friends and her other three friends that she had gotten to know during these past three weeks at the hospital. Liebgott immediately began telling her that she was crazy and was going to get herself killed – Floyd backing his every word – and George thanking her for five dollars that she never gave him. Somehow, she had been greeted with a shy 'Izzie, hey, uh, it's nice to see you again,' by Skip and Alex, and now somehow got them relaxing and talking a mile a minute about swimming the Niagara River on a bet.

Even though she was surrounded by friends, she felt gazes and gazes of a menacing nature from all around her. She knew there would be some disapproval, but not this much. One particular glance she caught was that of a man standing next to Sergeant Martin who had been with her during Christenson's 'little' incident, and even Martin didn't look too pleased with anything at the moment. The aforementioned man that was standing next to Martin, however, looked at her five times worse than Martin had, letting her know that she was not welcomed by him. As soon as their eyes had locked, she let a small, shy smile escape from them – if it was even possible – which he seemed to take a moment to take in, and even then he didn't seem to understand what it was. However, as soon as she moved her gaze back to her friends, he began narrowing his eyes at her, along with another man with a slender face and pitch black hair.

"…Izzie! You listening? I just finished telling my pie-fight story!" Skip called, sounding a partially annoyed that her attention had been directed elsewhere. All she heard from him was 'pie' and 'fight'.

"Oh," she seemed to have remembered a story of her own that she had yet to tell them, "I have a pie story! When I was nine, my mom made her amazingly delicious, award-winning cherry pie for my birthday, and Davis and Jason were there…."

That alone was enough to tell them that she would end up yelling the outcome of the story upon feeling the surge of emotions that had coursed through her during said story in her mind. She had done this several times before during her 'twin brother' stories back on the bus ride here. Of course, now that they knew the names of her brothers, as well as having the delight of meeting them in person, they couldn't really blame her.

"So when my mom was slicing the pie, Davis and Jason came racing into the room with freshly caught frogs from the creek, and put them down my dress, screaming 'happy birthday' in my face. I was so mad that I grabbed the pie from my mama and threw it as hard as I could at them," her face was now slightly twisted as she began to tear that polite mask from her face, and mind.

"And that's your pie-fight story, huh?" Joe asked, rolling his eyes a bit. She shook her head, 'no'.

"I don't get it," Alex mumbled, clearly not seeing the punch line of the whole 'pie-fight' story.

She puffed, "It missed."

"That's your story," Floyd mused. "Pie-fights involve more than two pies being thrown at each other, you know. I'm not too sure your birthday story counts."

"It hit the horse and it nearly smashed open Davis' skull."

"That why he's so –? You know," Skip made a look at her that had her questioning his sanity. She nodded solemnly.

"Mhm."

The roads were wet, soggy, and the grass was dripping with morning dew. It was seven forty-five in the morning, and she was none too happy about that. Apparently, Sobel had changed the meeting time to an hour earlier than what she had thought, so low and behold at seven o'clock sharp, he was knocking at her kitchen door. She had no time to eat, hardly any time to dress, and no time to dry her hair properly. Admittedly, she should have showered last night, but the emotions that just seemed to pop out of nowhere kept her from doing so. She was hungry, her hair was a mess, her new uniform was a bit big on her, and her scarf was itchy. Not much of good 'first day' if you asked her. But, here she was, laughing and having fun with her slightly old-new friends, finally being able to see Skip and Alex again.

Floyd mentioned nothing of poker throughout the entire conversation, which surprised her as he would normally pipe up about it sometime during their dialogues. Though Alex had asked if the smokes ever reached her brothers, he still stayed quiet about poker. His pack of gum had been long gone, and every time he saw a Finnegan smoking, he wondered if that cigarette should have been his. There was no way he would lose his pride and poker reputation to a silly farm girl who had practically signed up for the Army.

As she entered the building, she wasn't expecting a five star seven course meal in the least, and that was exactly what she didn't get. It was a Monday today, so that meant biscuits and gravy, though it seemed to resemble the contents of a human stomach more than a biscuit or gravy. She was hungry, and she would honest to goodness march right up to her sister-in-law's door and demand a meal if she could right now. She got just as much as the other men got, and the exact same thing, too. They had coffee, so she had coffee, mainly because it was already out and she was beginning to zone in and out of conversations already.

Some other men walked in and grabbed their own trays, standing in line, waiting to be served. They took note of her, some more so than others, and some staring at her like she didn't belong (again). She didn't take notice of them, it seemed, and everything just seemed to go over the top of her head that didn't involve the five men she was sitting with. Alex was complaining about the breakfast, saying it looked like barf, Joe was saying something about not having to eat barf, while George was just giving them both a blank look.

"Hey," Skip looked over Izzie's head and motioned for someone to come to the table. "Malark! Get over here. I _told_ you she doesn't have soft curls of deep red."

"Like Rita Hayworth?" Izzie stared at the hair in question which she held by thumb and forefinger in front of her face. It was messy, straight, and completely and absolutely almost too literally strawberry blonde. It was like someone had spilled strawberry syrup on her blonde hair a week or two ago, and she could not get the color out completely and now had a red-tinted head of hair. The only problem with this theory was that her hair had been the same color when she met them on the bus, and it had grown an inch and a half since then, and the roots were the very same color as it had always been – strawberry blonde.

A gaze made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on edge, and when she turned to look around, she saw no one staring at her. They were all eating their breakfast, talking, and mumbling, complaining – just being guys. Pardon, _men._ She saw no one looking like they had been watching her a few moments ago and upon her sudden head turn returned to eating as fast as they could, so she brushed it off. The only person that seemed like they were headed her way was a sweet looking, red-headed man who looked like he was ready to pee in someone's coffee.

"Shut it, Muck," the red-headed man kicked Skip in the shins as he sat down, face color matching his hair. "Uh, hi, Miss Finnegan. Donald Malarkey – er, just Don, though." He held out his hand to shake, which she did, gently.

"Nice to meet you, Don," she smiled sweetly at him, finally feeling the effects of the coffee kicking it. Oh, sweet Jesus, she so loved small graces. The bags under her eyes didn't simply melt away as she had hoped, but they seemed to blend in with her skin tone quite a bit.

"And look, Malark," Joe pointed a finger to Izzie, who sat beside him. "Grey eyes, and freckles, can't cook, _and _she's Irish. What did Skip and Muck say you said again? Something about cerulean blue eyes, or aventurine green eyes, and—"

Don cut him off with a quick blow to his shins, something he seemed to be doing a lot today. Joe winced in pain and just stuffed the rest of the eating substance into his mouth only to discover that it was remarkably hot, and made his eyes water ever so slightly. He turned his head, covering his mouth and began to inhale through his mouth in an attempt to cool it down. Izzie raised an eyebrow at this, wondering just what had been said around the camp about her. She had no idea what was in store for her from this 'Easy Company' she had volunteered for.

She was really starting to wonder if she had made the right decision to come here.

* * *

**She finally meets Easy! -GASP- Not what you expected, hmmm?  
Yay! Finally, the action begins! MWUAHAHA. -ahem- I was so flattered to read all of your reviews to this story, and especially to see the hits it's gotten! Goodness! I used to pray my stories would get at least 40 hits... Ya'll are spoiling me, I swear. So, I cranked this baby out early for yew! C: I'm having it proof-read tommorrow, so don't you worry about the grammer and sutch. The pie fight? Minus the horse part, true story, different scenario. I still get bugged about that... C:**

**Notes:**

**1) You'll notice I'm changing the names of the character every now and then. This is not a fluke. I'm using the names that the character I'm focusing on would call them, e.x Skip would be called 'Muck' by his fellow brothers (teehee), and George would most likely be called 'Luz' by his fellow brothers. Izzie is referred to as 'Izzie' when she's around people that know her by that name, and so on and so forth. Just wanted to clear that up.**

**2) I'm so sorry about Bill's dialogue. I'm not sure if I got it right, seeing as how I have no accent, but it seems that in the stories where he's written 'normally', I can't connect. Advice? **

**3) I'm sorry if I centered on two characters more than others - I'm working on this. Some of the character just seem so perfect for what's to be said, and the other just seem to be... well, imperfect for that. Sorry about that.**


	7. Man's Law

**Author's Note:** Hello, loves! I'm so sorry I'm late with this... This whole week has been a giant brain fart for me. And then my air conditioner broke on the hottest day of the year. And then I felt like a blob. And then I got busy with writing this story, finally watching Saving Private Ryan, and then my iPod broke. :\ Not a good week, no sir!  
Anywhose, I was supposed to go to Colorado tomorrow, but I got sick so now I'm not going! Bummer for me, happy for you! I get to write more! And maybe shower! Just kidding. Well, not really. But you get my point, yeah?  
And I hope you enjoy this! 'Specially the Roe fans out there! C:

**Disclaimer: I do not own nor claim to own Band of Brothers or the real men of Easy. **I do, however, own the collector's edition of BoB in a tin can. And Izzie and her mentally disturbed family that came into being via my love for torturing my characters.

* * *

Hair tied back, being whipped left and right by the wind – just like how he imagined Laura Ingalls Wilder's hair would look like when he was reading the book The Little House on the Prairie to his younger siblings. With him being the oldest of the family, and the only one who could always do the voices right (which was why they hated it when their mom would read to them), he usually ended up reading the books to them multiple times when they were younger.

All he had to imagine was a dress – a cotton floral dress, maybe even just a plain dress of the eighteen-hundreds – being blown this way and that, with hair down to her waist, flying even more violently than it was now. The color of the hair made him think of Mary, but the way she was running reminded him of Laura; wild and free. He shook his head, trying to get his sanity back. This wasn't exactly what he was supposed to be doing right now. No, right now, he should be running as fast as he could, so as not to disgrace the entire Airborne, as Colonel Sink would so kindly put it.

But his imagination would not have it. In a moment, he was back to that place of imagining Laura and Mary, running over the hills in the prairie, laughing and shouting. This was nothing like what was truly happening around him.

All around him, men were grunting and grimacing, coughing and panting. They were clenching their teeth, letting their arms just flop beside them, while others were as sharp as a needle. They picked their legs up like it was an everyday thing (which it was), kept their arms moving like they should, and still were able to stand straight. He was used to this now, and being one of the men who could stand straight while running, he pitied the men who couldn't stand straight, as most of them had been here since the beginning.

She seemed to be like him in that regard, but barely.

Surprisingly, she had been able to keep up with Sobel's grueling routine up till now. She almost tripped three times, and Eugene Roe, one of the medics in Easy, was sure to catch her each and every time. Her breathing had become more erratic and he could see her legs trembling ever-so-slightly, but her face showed more determination than Sobel when he was busting people for having loose threads on their newly sewn-on chevrons . How had he even noticed that thread? It was miniscule. And most likely it was part of the chevron itself, and not the thread he had used.

She slowed her pace slightly, but one of the medics in Easy, Eugene Roe, was sure to mutter some words of comfort and encouragement to her. She began running faster, keeping pace with the rest of the company, but still, she was just barely able to keep up. He wondered what Roe had said that was able to get her going again – it was Doc Roe for Pete's sake, so it couldn't have been fowl-mouthed or that much of an insult. Her face showed that it was neither of these, but perhaps it was, seeing as how she was used to these forms of 'endearment' from her brothers back home.

"It's okay," Eugene told her, his tone soft, and his heavy accent a welcome voice of encouragement to her. "It's fine. Just push through the pain, Miss Finnegan, just push through the pain an' show them that you're strong. Show Sobel he has no right to question your strength 'cause of your sex, 'lright?"

She nodded and picked up her pace once more, determined not to let the Finnegan name die in one day. Eugene smiled slightly at her as she began to run harder and faster. She was nothing like the girl he had imagined, and he was glad about that. Rita Hayworth would have died if she were being trained by Sobel, but this Izzie girl… She was different – not only in the looks department, but in the attitude and mental department as well.

She was tough. Tougher than any woman Eugene had ever met – not including his grandmother – and more determined that anyone to prove herself. She had tripped a few times during the run, but he was watching her out of the corner of his eye and caught her, every single time. He could feel the muscles in her arm, flexing and tensing, and was even surprised when she muttered a thank-you. They hadn't been properly introduced, but he had heard her name was 'Izzie', and began calling her that. He didn't want to see her drop out, so during breakfast he made a mental note to keep an eye out for her, which was exactly what he found himself doing without a second thought.

Eugene had to hand it to her, though. Coming all the way from Oregon without so much as a written 'maybe' to be able to train with the men (and show her brothers up) was pretty tenacious of her. And to top it off, she had already performed multiple surgeries, both supervised and unsupervised. The only thing he had done so far was pull out a few splinters and give some pain killers to men who had headaches. She was truly something. And the bizarre name, 'Izzie', just confirmed that. Where had that even come from? And what mother in their right mind would call their daughter 'Izzie'? Sounded too much like 'dizzy' or 'busy' for his taste, but who was he to question her name?

"Let's go, you can do this!" Dick shouted encouragement to the men as soon as he had reached the top. "Come one, you can do this, Popeye, let's go! You're doing great, Malarkey, doing fine, Alley. Good job, Luz, good job, keep going! Nice work, Roe," there was a certain tone in his voice that was filled with softness and appreciation, "Finn, good job, you can finish this! Go, come on, you're doing great!" She was panting heavily when she reached the top, and was determined not to stop, especially when Dick had been such a warm welcomer.

Downhill was easier than uphill, and she was thankful for the law of gravity for once. It was still quite hard, but because of Eugene Roe and Dick Winters, she had made it that far, and she was not about to quit. The tomboy inside of her started raging and she started running faster, losing control for a split second and gaining it the next. This downhill run had her heart pounding in her head as wind whipped through her hair and on her face, stinging a bit, but making it all the more exhilarating. She fell in step next to Eugene who seemed to be feeling the same thing, but it was a little more toned down and hidden in his dark features than on her bright, happy face. He had to do a double take when she was running _past_ him, as he saw the biggest smile across her face, and the brightest, most joyful aura surrounded her, catching him in it for a split second as she passed.

What was she? She was happy… and she was running Curahee by order of Captain Sobel. What in the world…? She was obviously some sort of saint in disguise, sent by God for some reason. Smiling! Running Curahee! What had happened to the girl who was tripping? Well, she was still tripping a bit, breathing hard, but over all she was smiling. He couldn't remember the last time he had seen a smile that big and that true. It wasn't that he had never had a girl smile around him before; it was that you could just see the smile on her entire face that surprised him. Her eyes were smiling, her lips were smiling, and her face had just lit up completely, and she was laughing. It wasn't loud, but he could hear it as she passed him, and it was so strange, to be honest. It sounded like a child's laugh to him, while he knew that she was anything but a child, it seemed to bring an emotion over him that he couldn't explain.

He was absolutely confused right now. She was a different creature than anything he had ever met, or seen.

Her lungs were burning, her knees were pulsating in pain, and her hair continually whipped her sweaty neck as she ran. It felt like someone was constantly penetrating her lungs with fifty needles at a time, like they were hitting her knees with sledge hammers every time her feet made contact with the ground, and like they had the famed 'cat of nine tails' fixed on her back. She could just imagine it being brought down on her – feeling even more pain, feeling blood pour down her sweat drenched back, and the salty sweat dripping into the wounds.

But that was just it. That was what made her smile. She was running, laughing, and grinning because of this. Her heart raced faster and faster as she made her descent down the mountain side along with the men of Easy, flying in its happiness and contentment. It was like being back home, when she and a few of her brothers would go hiking and camping at Wallowa Lake – a great lake not too far from her house, and a very big camp site. They would race up hills and trails, letting the loser cook the dinner for the night, and just be amazingly happy to be alive. She and Clifford would often make a tag-team together, riding on his back and knocking over her other brothers if she got the chance. They always lost, of course, since having an extra hundred and thirty pounds on your back was not easy. Now, Davis and Jason would do the same thing, only they played dirty, which was why most of the time they beat her and Clifford, if only by a hair.

She ran and laughed and smiled past many men, just happy to be alive. Everything she felt, everything she heard, everything that hurt just reminded her of how she was alive, and able to enjoy entertaining the thought of having a tomorrow. She hurt, it was no secret. She was tired, and everyone could see it by the way her legs were trembling, but she would not fall. Some men watched in horror as the _girl_ ran past them; others were in shock; and others were in admiration. Some thought that they were lagging behind, others were surprised to see that she was still holding out, and others thought that if a girl could still be running, they should be able to, too. The last thought was mainly thought of by two men; Skip and Luz. They started jogging up behind her, already having formulated an evil plan of which they could not share details, and they were about to put it into action if not for the dreaded voice of the Black Swan.

"Private Luz," it squawked. "Are you going to let a woman outdo you on her first run up Curahee?! You've been here for four months, private, and I sure as hell don't want to see one of my men lose out to a female!"

The words shook her not only literally, but figuratively as well. Her body was becoming so light from being light-headed due to lack of oxygen, and at the same time her limbs were shaking as though they had seventy extra pounds attached to them. Hearing his boisterous voice from behind her made her jump up in surprise, causing her to trip, twist her left ankle, drop to the ground and roll. An arrogant Sobel sprinted past her as casually as he could sprint, taking no real notice of her condition or what had gone on. It was made very clear to her in that moment that she was not welcome in Easy, especially by Sobel.

She sat up, wincing in pain as she moved her left leg, covered in mud now, in front of her so she could make out how bad it was. After dusting hers hands off as best she could, she began feeling around, taking note of the places that hurt, and the bones that were not broken. How a bone could be broken from a little tumble like that you'd have to ask Jason for that answer, and even then she was still skeptical about it. As she stood up, determined to make it through the pain, an arm went around her waist and the other slung her left arm around their neck, taking a great deal of the pressure off her left leg, and pushed her into jogging.

"Thanks," the person mumbled. She looked up and almost jumped and tripped again upon seeing the face, but the hand that had helped her held her down for the moment. "You're really jumpy today, aren't you?"

"Christenson."

"Finnegan," he acknowledged with a slight smirk. She looked at him funny, but couldn't stare too long as they were already lagging behind on Sobel's standards. "Didn't think I'd ignore damsel... in distress, did you? And mind telling me what a klutz like... you is doing acting... as our surgeon?"

"I just…" she trailed off, wincing in pain as her left foot made contact with a mud puddle, her breathing becoming heavier and heavier as they 'ran'. "Have you ever… been in a really good mood, and then… had Sobel suddenly yell something… to someone behind you without…. warning?"

"A good mood with… Sobel… around? I can't say I've ever… felt that way…Finn."

"Oh," she huffed. It was getting more tiring now that they were talking and wasting precious air. Her leg was still in pain, and every time it hit the mucky roads, it just got worse. Having Christenson there with her was quite a relief, but it still wasn't enough. She stumbled again, and Christenson tightened his grip around her.

"Ow," she winced. "Uh, Christenson?" She glanced at him, batting her eyelashes rapidly and putting on her poker face.

"Do you have something in your eye?"

She frowned and looked down in frustration at this question of his, wincing in pain once more. Running and talking with Christenson was a good way to pass time, but it was excruciatingly painful and tiring. Every other thing that came from her mouth was either a large exhale or a sharp inhale as she limped her way to the bottom of the mountain. She felt bad for Christenson, helping out the new _girl_ who had managed to screw up on her first run, and running along with her, though it was more like a slight power walk than a run. Though he did owe her his life, which could be a small detail in this current predicament he caught himself in, which seemed to calm Izzie's conscience of pulling him down with her.

She kept her eyes on the road this time, her vision blurring every twenty seconds or so, and said, "Christenson? While you're in a good mood… What would you say to giving me a piggy-back ride?" she said, half-jokingly, half serious. He glanced at her, almost raising an eyebrow to her statement, but failed mid-raise, having been using his energy to lift his legs this entire time.

"This isn't…" he trailed off, suppressing a groan, "This isn't C.T, Finnegan. This is P.T, keep that in mind the next time you ask for something, and don't make me feel more like I need to do something that'd bite Sobel in the ass."

Little did he know that he already had.

"C.T?" she wiped the beads of sweat from her brow as she asked this, and was absolutely delighted when she began to see people in the camp. It meant she was getting closer to being done, and closer to semi-treating her ankle.

"Christenson Training," he laughed slightly. With great effort, and a great deal of strength and determination, she turned her face toward him and looked at him humorously. Half-forcing a smile to her face, she began laughing along with him, and now both were carrying a tired, unanimous laugh, both hardly knowing what it was that they were laughing about. Upon realizing that they were, indeed, in the back of the 'pack', they quit laughing, and tried running, though Izzie still had quite a hard time in trying to turn her epic hobble into an epic hobble-run attempt, even with the help of Christenson. He knew that they would be the last in reaching the bottom of the hill, and he knew Sobel would surely yell at him for some idiotic reason such as not being able to ignore an injured damsel in distress. Consequently, Izzie would be yelled at, her weekend pass revoked, and she would be having the worst first day in the history of first days.

He knew that the men here were already P.O'd about her being here, saying she wouldn't last a week in this hell hole, and they had even begun making bets on when she would drop out already. In her current state, she looked miserable, pale, and exhausted. She had hurt her ankle somehow, he didn't exactly see just was happened, but he saw the fall. Her knees were pretty cut up by the pebble road she had fallen on and tumbled down, and as a result, her hands were cut this way and that, with a splinter here and there. But she was willing and determined to push through the wall that kept her down; Man's Law.

Man's Law was, in essence, the very thing that separated male from female in terms of strength and standard. Man's Law declared males to be stronger, smarter, and tougher than females. It declared that _no one_ – and it meant absolutely no one – who could not match a man's standards would ever be accepted as a man. Ever since she had signed that contract with the Army and had been assigned to Easy Company, it had been mandatory to break that law, and to tear down the walls that separated herself from the rest of the men in order to work with them, whether she knew it or not.

It would take her a long time to find the way to break it, but by all means, she would break it. She would break it, and she could finally be accepted by the men of Easy as a strong, capable woman who was now equally and mentally as fit as them. Or at least that was what Christenson believed. Although he made the whole 'Man's Law' thing up, it really did seem to fit the prejudice of men when it came to women, so he was pretty darn proud of himself for that. But he knew that she was nowhere near breaking the Law because right now, she was too busy breaking _herself.  
_

As soon as they reached the bottom of the hill, she literally collapsed on him due to lack of oxygen, an ankle on its death bed, and exhaustion. She looked so pale, so innocent, and so absolutely out of place in this world of men. Her skin color next to the hands that held her face was as close to paper white as skin could get without its owner dying, minus the freckled skin.

* * *

White. But not just any white, it was an odd blurry white. There were blobs and globs of pale, light green in the burry white, as well, and in a few blinks, they were a bit clearer. Pale peach was the next color that came into the white centerpiece. This very pale peach, however, had two big, beautifully colored chocolate chips on both sides of it, and a very fine rose pink blob at the bottom of it. Two more blinks and it became clearer, and three more blinks after that and it was beginning to form a face. She jumped backwards as the face came closer to her own, and landed yet again, right on her bum. That caused her to jump up in pain and knock her head against the frame of the bed, which then made her recoil in pain only to hit the back of her head against a wall.

"…Ow," she breathed, clutching both forehead and the back of her head with her eyes shut tight.

"You feelin' any betta, Miss Finnegan?" a voice – a familiar voice – with a calming accent that she seemed to know from somewhere – but not the owner of it – spoke softly, as a mother would to a baby when it was having a fit. This voice, however, was male, but it seemed to have that effect on her. She looked up to the owner of the voice and saw that the things she had thought were chocolate chips not ten seconds before were actually the eyes of one of her saviors from that horrid run up Curahee earlier today. He was right beside her now, placing one warm hand on her shoulder in a comforting, reassuring manor, and the other around her hand.

"Who…?"

"Gene – er, _Eu_gene Roe. I'm one of the medics in Easy," he narrowed his eyes in a harmless fashion, "Do you… You alright, Miss Finnegan? You've been out eva since the run yesterday."

"Yesterday?" she groaned, her grip on her head tightening. Had she really been out since yesterday? She knew she was tired, yes, but not _that_ horribly exhausted. She had tried so hard to make it through, to push through the pain and show them that she was indeed, strong, and now she'd been unconscious for a day. How could she have just passed out, on her first day, on her first run, when the eyes of the entire company were on her back?! She was stronger than this, she was better than that, and she most definitely had a headache from hitting her head so much this morning.

"Eugene?" she questioned, blinked rapidly. "What time is it?"

"Seven forty-five in the evening, Miss Finnegan. You sure were as tired as they come," he added, letting a miniscule smile grace his lips (which she realized were the long red blobs she had seen earlier). "Couple 'a guys were worried about you, you know. Wouldn't quit asking me to see you, 'specially this mornin' when they heard you still wasn't up yet."

"I slept through everything on my first day…" she muttered under her breath. Her eyes began to get a little watery, catching Eugene off guard, and she closed her eyes slowly, trying to keep every tear she where wanted it: behind her mask.

"Miss Finnegan," Eugene squeezed her shoulder as a way of reassuring her of something, and stayed with her. "Miss Finnegan, is everything alright? Aside from your head and ankle, I mean."

"I just…. I thought…. Maybe I could do better than that, be better than this, and sooner than now. This is… Miserable. I have to do it all over again," she groaned, holding her head in her hands. She didn't mind that Eugene was there, as she had seemed to find the oddest future-friends when she was in tears. The infamous George Luz could testify to that. "And I was doing so good! I-I think I made it to the top and back, you know? And then Sobel came up from behind me…"

"You were just fine, Izzie, just fine. You made it to the top and back, you know. Most guys couldn't on our first run, and they dropped out. You're tougher than them, Izzie, you should know that. I don't know you much, but what I saw on our first run, you is tougher than most 'a the men there. 'Sides, Miss Finnegan, I don't think you've been getting all that much sleep. Luz is always talking 'bout visiting you at witching hours with the weirdest reasons. Says that those were your working hours, too."

"You said the men dropped out," she looked at him quizzically, completely tuning out what he had said to her about George Luz and not getting enough sleep. Her eyes had dried themselves now, though they were still a bit red. "What are you implying…?"

"Well," he looked away, a slight pink tint to his pale skin. "What I meant was that you was strong for a… a lady. I don't think that most girls woulda volunteered like that, and still wanna hang around after meeting our Captain. And those men were men – you've gotta be strong to be a man, and they wasn't strong enough for this Company. You're an odd one, I'll give you that." He smiled at her as he stood to get something from the counter in whatever room she was in.

She smiled slightly at his comment. Whichever way it sounded, she knew he meant well. A thought suddenly popped into her mind, and she stood up suddenly, but fell back onto the bed as the room started spinning in all directions around her. Clamping her head again in her palms, she shut her eyes tightly and prayed everything would go away again; she hated being dizzy.

"You're dehydrated," Eugene informed her, handing her his canteen, which she downed in a matter of seconds. "…And apparently very thirsty." He chuckled as he took back the canteen from her.

"Thanks," She smiled shyly at him, having recovered enough from being dizzy to see straight again. She looked around at her surroundings, tilting her head in confusion as to where she was. This wasn't a hospital room that she had been in before, and the flooring was a completely different material than what the hospital used. It was a light colored wood, and smelled fresh, almost like her new lodgings with the Lieutenants Dick and Lewis. Was she at the Aid Station? Did they even _have_ an Aid Station in camp…?

"Where…?"

"Aid Station," Eugene answered like he had been reading her mind. "Christenson and Talbert brought you in afta' the run. I gotta hand it to you, Miss Finnegan; neva' seen either of them so worried before. Don't you go breakin' anything 'a yours now; don't wanna see them cry."

She let a laugh escape from her eyes while she held her breath. She finally inhaled, about to say something, when Eugene cut her off with a thought of his own.

"You're really not like your other brothers, Miss Finnegan, are you?"

"Good Heavens, I hope not!" she gasped, positively horrified that he would think of her as such. Being like her brothers, even like Clifford, what the exact opposite of her life goal.

"Not a bit," he smiled slightly to himself as he poured her some water from another canteen and began feeling around in a drawer for something. Upon finding the object, he pulled it out and ripped the top off, letting two small white pills slowly slide out from the packet and into his hand. Walking over to her, he set the two pills on a nearby table as well as the small glass of water, telling her to take one now, and one fifteen minutes later for her ankle. She nodded and was about to do so, but a sudden door slam caused her to jump up in surprise and drop one of the pills, making it hit the ground and roll like a penny under the bed. She quickly dove after it, remembering the ten second rule, and ended up completely under the bed.

"Hey, Roe," a new voice chimed, "I'm looking for the Finnegan gal. Sobel says he wants her up to join us for the night march, so he sent me to pick her up, and from that look on your face, I don't think that's going to happen…"

Doing a double take at the empty bed, Eugene muttered, "She's gone."

"What?"

"She's gone, Tipper," Eugene repeated. "Dunno how she got away with that ankle of hers…"

"Maybe she hobbled out," the voice she now knew as belonging to Tipper, a man she had heard of earlier, chuckled to himself. Eugene did not look impressed. "Aw, come on, Doc! How else is she going to get away from you and your needles?"

"I was just talking to her a minute ago, Tipper. She woke up 'bout five – maybe ten – minutes ago."

"And now she's gone, conveniently after I announced Sobel wanted her in the march tonight? Doc, you know she's horrible at this, and it's great that you're helping her out and all, but—"

"Oh, there you are," she announced happily, jumping up from under the bed with little white pill in hand. She grinned and picked up the glass of water, downing the entire thing along with the pill, and then slowly turned around to see both men staring at her like she was crazy. Truth be told, she was a little crazy, but it wasn't clinically proven yet, so she really had no idea that that little fact about her was indeed true. Her brothers swore by it sometimes and even went so far as to write to the Surgeon General about this matter, and giving her the reply letter they received on her birthday. Well, it was mainly Gene's idea, her second eldest brother, but it was written by Lloyd, the English major wannabe of the family.

"There you are," Eugene repeated mainly to himself, but Tipper and Izzie knew he just meant that he had found her. "You betta' take that other aspirin I gave you, Miss Finnegan. Looks like Sobel wants you on the march tonight, an' I don't think one aspirin's gonna cut it for your ankle. Take an extra packet with you, too. Sobel'll chew you out if you drink all of your canteen water, so take as little water as you need to get these down, 'lright?"

She gave Eugene a quick nod before turning back to the table and taking the glass, the pill, and one last look at the inviting bed before moving to get more water from the counter. Surveying the room for the first time, she saw that it was, indeed, just a house like that which she was sharing with the Lieutenants Nixon and Winters. It was constructed of a light wood that still smelled fresh, despite it not being all that new anymore, though it also smelled of pine and some cleaning chemicals. There was a small counter on the right side of the room, along with a wall cabinet above it, and shelves beside it, holding countless materials for bandaging and cleaning wounds, as well as a broom and dust pan (which she didn't deem sanitary), as well as a few stacks of surgical instruments that were wrapped up nice and clean in their boxes. On the counter was placed a metal sink, and next to it was an assortment of metal canteens and such, all of which she presumed to be full.

She had to fiddle with the knobs on the sink before getting the water to run right, and filled her glass once more with cold comfort before downing it all once more along with the small white pill. Meanwhile Tipper and Eugene stayed silent, staring at the lone girl from Oregon who seemed so…clueless.

* * *

**I'M ALIVE! Woo! **

**Sorry, I just wanted to make sure you knew that. So sorry for the delay, one again, m'dears. Horrible week. Bleh. And how in the world did I do on this chapter? I know, I put in an odd opening, but I actually kind of enjoyed it. Don't ask me how a guy can do the perfect voices for girls, please. Even I don't know that :\**

**A HUGE thank you to all my reviewers of my last chapter: ber1719, AivieEnchanted, HopelesslyObsessedFan, captain ty, waterlily777, Kiersten (you're super special, my anonymous friend!), Kurai-Seirei-no-Hotaru,THE DEADLY ANGEL, and sezq! You guys are amazing! Remember, the more reviews, the sooner the next chapter will be out... I think. I'm sorry I haven't replied to you - I really do mean to, but I've been busy this week dealing with catastrophes. Ish. But thank you!!**

**Notes:**

**1) Izzie! I bet you're wondering why she passed out, even with all that farm work and such! Well, I'm going to make it very clear, incase you didn't pick it up in the story. She's been working the night shifts in the emergency room, so with her lack of sleep (she's been working those for about 2 weeks), dehydration, and lack of oxygen, she managed to knock herself out on the first run. Six mile run, m'dears, that's not exactly farm work. **

**2) Eugene! Let's talk about Roe now, huh? He seems kind hearted, so I decided to make him part of her cheer squad. :D And as a fellow medical person, he should know about ... um... medical stuff. Yup. C:**

**3) Aspirin! Yes, one of the only pain medicines that I was able to track down as being around in the 1940's (go me), and I honestly have no idea what it looks like. Or how many you're supposed to take for that matter.... So I made sure to make Izzie overdose in case they weren't all that strong. It was either that or Opium or Morphine. I don't think that either of those would be that good for her.... o_o**


	8. The What and the Why

**Author's Note: Hello, my darling doves! I'm back with a new chapter! I hope so much that you enjoy it, and I'm so sorry for the delay! My brother's school is having a flu thang right now, and a few swine flew cases, and after my dearest brother lent his water bottle to a friend of his who.... Uhm, long story short, he's got the flu now, and because of my compromised immune system, I'm beginning to feel the effects of it. Scratch that. I officially have the flu now. D:**

**And then I discovered my old Harry Potter game from '07. And then my brother bought the new game. And I discovered chocolate meringues... And an amazing coffee house. This week was awesome! But, it's starting to heat up again, which means April will be confined to her room of which her laptop resides.... Lucky you. ;) And I'm so sorry that I haven't reviewed anything yet! I always want to be in a good mood when I review, that way I don't say anything that I have no right to and scar you forever... Yup. Again, sorry!**

**Any mispellings in this, I blame on Cookie, my dog. She thinks it's fun to play volley ball with my hands as they type. I don't think it's fun... :\**

**Disclaimer: I do not own nor claim to own Band of Brothers, or the real men of Easy Company, nor do I own Hello Kitty. **I do however own Izzie, her odd family. Hello Kitty isn't used in this story whatsoever, but I still wanted to make that clear. :)

* * *

Izzie watched slowly as the moisture gathered itself into a droplet, and slowly glided down from the top of the helmet, to the rim of the metal helmet in front of her. Tilting her head to the side to get a better view of it as it began to slide down a sweat-drenched neck, she heard someone clear their throat rather loudly. Not getting the bigger picture, she proceeded to follow the droplet down to the sweaty, hardly exposed chest of the man in front of her out of boredom, and the pain and exhaustion that was beginning to get to her. It was that simple. Ten miles into a night-march could really do that to a gal, especially one with a sprained ankle who had only woken up not a half-hour before the march began. And after her encounter with Lieutenant Speirs and her twin brothers earlier this day while she was looking for her lodgings, she wasn't looking forward to waking up the next morning as the newly appointed latrine inspection officer. She wasn't even _in_ the army, technically speaking. Though, now she was an officer. A latrine officer, but an officer nevertheless. It made her feel warm and proud inside.

Ironic as it was, she had not taken into account how much water she had drank before the march, and now she needed to pee like the dickens.

However, a certain someone by the name of Sergeant Johnny Martin saw this small gesture as fidgeting while intently staring at a man sweating as suggestive, and cleared his throat once more in the suspicion that she was really getting into what she was looking at. When she didn't reply, he nudged her on the shoulder (pretty darn hard if she did say so herself), making her head spin violently around towards him, and her helmet spun around so it was now backwards on her. She quickly began straightening it back up.

He chuckled quietly. "You got a thing for Nixon, Sweets?"

She looked at him funny, trying to figure out why he was asking her that while she was on morphine and—oh. That's why.

"No," she was trying her best not to talk to anyone. But upon seeing Lewis twitch a bit in front of her, most likely trying to prevent himself from turning around and providing the duo with a sarcastic, comical comment, she bit her tongue. "I, well, what I mean is that she's attractive—er—I meant _he_," judging from the slightly turned ear in her direction of the man in front of her, she knew she had to fight for her life from now on. "I just don't think she—erm—_her_, oh, I mean _**he**_ is attractive, and a gentleman, and I—oh shi—!"

"Doctor Finnegan!"

She turned to see her worst nightmare on a night like this walking straight towards her. As per the recent usual, Captain Sobel was throwing her a death glare and seemed to be quite unimpressed by her current predicament of talking while he had ordered complete silence throughout the entire march. Sighing, she turned back to Johnny who had quite the hilarious look plastered to his face, and saw Lewis in front of her, trying to hold back a smirk. She obviously had to explain herself to her new captain, and tell just why she was talking and babbling like an idiot.

"Yes, sir?"

"By me," he stabbed the air next to him with his finger violently, motioning for her to be next to him. She nodded and walked out of line, falling into step with him in a matter of seconds. She saw many men carrying the looks of that which the boys at her old grammar school held when someone was in trouble with the teacher, or did something wrong. A few, however, were smiling like they had just found out the subject of the previous conversation between her and Johnny, but Lewis held a vacant look in his eyes. To her, he looked like a blank canvas without his regular smirk and expressive eyebrows. It just wasn't right.

Then she remembered that she had only met him four days ago and didn't know him all that well, but still, it didn't seem to fit with his features. Those eyebrows were _meant_ to be moved in strange directions, and those lips seemed to be _made_ to smirk, but she didn't notice this in an odd way. She had just never seen him with any other face on is all.

"You're being talkative this evening, Miss Finnegan," Sobel shot her a glare that seemed to have softened just a bit since their first meeting. It seemed to weaken, though, even more with his next words, "And I suppose it _is_ a nice change from grumbling, underachieving men, to hear a woman's voice through the crowd, but when I have ordered complete silence, that is exactly what I expect to hear."

She nodded, smiling at the thought that she could have possibly softened him up a little since her first encounter with him. Around her, all she could hear was heavy breathing which meant that every single ear was turned in her direction.

All one-hundred and forty-seven pairs of ears.

It sounded like a fair enough number to her, at least. She had known there were about a hundred and forty to a hundred and sixty men per company, but she just had failed to listen closer to Lloyd as he was giving her the 'rape' talk the other day before her official transfer into the company. And, now that she walked alongside the captain of the company, she honestly didn't wish to think further into the subject of how many men were in his company, because in this case the more was certainly _not_ the merrier.

"Did you hear me, Miss Finnegan?"

"Yes…?"

"I asked you a question, Doctor. Answer it."

She looked a bit baffled by his quick attitude change, and then began to wrack her brain for the question that he had asked her. Oh, she did it again…going into a long thought process and dissolving from the world in front of her, only to appear after something important happened. This army would be the death of her, literally.

"I'm sorry, I was thinking about a patient of mine at the hospital. Very ill – almost died twice on me in surgery. He wanted to go to war so badly, you know."

His look softened once more towards her, which honestly seemed to creep her out a bit. Never before had she seen a man so two-faced before, and quite frankly, she never wanted to see one like this again. He was scaring her.

"I'm sorry to hear that," he attempted to smile towards her, "But he was in… er… good hands. Answer my original question, Doctor. Why did you disobey a direct order?" His face had hardened once again towards her, as if trying to assert himself as the captain of the company, and not a man speaking with a woman.

She looked at him, and blurted out a question that she would never live down. The morphine was really speaking for itself now.

"Do you find Lieutenant Nixon attractive?"

And with that, she had sentenced herself to twenty-five to life. She was going to kill Eugene Roe for having the genius idea of giving her half a full dose of morphine, which was just now starting to have the real "morphine" effect on her. Turning bright red, she turned on her heel and was now power-walking back towards her place next to Johnny Martin and Eugene Roe, when she felt a fist quickly punch her gently in the arm. Her gaze darted upwards, to the guilty face of Lewis Nixon, who was smirking uncontrollably. She blamed him for her sudden outburst. If it wasn't for his existence, Captain Sobel might still be in a good, non-homosexually prejudiced mood right now.

Speeding up her walk of shame, she landed herself next to Eugene and Johnny, both of whom looked rather surprised and entertained at her little performance just now. Of course, for Izzie, it seemed more like a hell that would haunt her forever until the day she left the army. Well, technically when they decided they didn't like her contract anymore, but still, she considered it as leaving the army. Of course, she might be transferred to another company, at which point she hoped that no one from said company would know anyone from Easy. Or Sobel. Or her brothers. Or her, for that matter.

Her face was redder than a raspberry, and her eyes were still wide from realizing what had slipped out of her mouth, and more importantly, _who _she was addressing at the time. She had already started everything wrong with that man, first by yelling at him in a hospital room and insulting him in every possible way a good surgeon-to-be (she still doesn't recognize the term 'medical student') _could_ insult a Military Captain. Though it wasn't as profound or contained enough long words that were hard to pronounce as it should have, it was an insult nevertheless. Secondly, her brother, Clifford, had lost _his_ temper on the matter which was even more embarrassing to the (not-so-much) poor man, and, by being the ranking officer in the conversation (though not his reporting officer) had every up-side in the argument that a teacher had over a student in discussing arithmetic.

The teacher was right. The student was wrong. No questions asked after the final word was said.

And Izzie had as well been misinformed on the matter of time for her first day of 'training' (she considered more like the first level of Hell, as Dante had described it in his Divine Comedy), so when Herbert Sobel was to pick her up from the family she was staying with and came two hours early, he was even more unimpressed by the young surgeon-to-be. When he had walked in—uninvited mind you—to find her right in the middle of a mouthful of cinnamon roll, she could tell that he was _not_ impressed.

Now she had done it. Asking him if he was a homosexual in front of his entire company was not one of her brightest "morphine moments", but Herbert had no idea she was on morphine, and she was pretty sure that it wasn't legal to be up and about, while marching in his company while under the influence. She had not gotten an answer from him, which was even worse for him because it might have implied that he was attempting to hide something from the rest of the company, and now it would be all her fault that he would be mocked yet one more time.

Though he was fuming mad at her, he could not punish her as he would any other of his men, because that meant taking away her weekend pass which he could not do by order of Colonel Sink himself. She always had to be at the hospital during weekends, so as to further her training and skill. And if he chose physical punishment, it would seem to the men that he was a woman abuser. But, she _had_ told him to treat her like the rest of his men, so now what was he to do? She hadn't been acting right the whole march, and he didn't know why. Could she be…? No, impossible. She couldn't be, could she? If she _was_, he would be in a boatload of guilt and trouble as well for making her do this night march.

And that rigorous run up Curahee.

And yelling at her like that.

And causing her to trip.

God, what was he thinking?

* * *

Twelve miles complete, and every man was just about ready to skip showering and just plunk into bed. Of course, all of them knew by now how horrible a bunk house filled with the ever-so-popular scent known as sweat smelled, and decided a good night of sleep would be better than no sleep. Izzie, used to smelling sweat all day and all night what with her brothers most working on the farm dawn 'till dusk, just headed straight towards the Aid Station, where she hoped to get an extra dose of morphine before bed. Didn't even think twice about showering, but something in her seemed to know that something wasn't right with not showering. After changing directions and steering herself to the left rather than the right, she found herself in Dog Company's barracks. Most of the men were asleep, but she could see a faint light glowing in the window of the cabin that she needed to get to. Smiling to herself, she trudged her way over to the house, and opened the door. She wasn't worried about what she would see inside, because this was what she normally did at home. Privacy was a luxury—one that the Finnegans never housed, unless towards her or her mother. Other than that, it was just open and a door and start a conversation, regardless the position the person was in at the moment.

Of course, what she didn't expect to see were other men awake, some with only a wife-beater and pants on, but most still had the beautiful jumpsuit on, with the top unbuttoned and the sleeves tied around their waists. Looking over the lifeless expressions of the men, she spotted the very two men she had been looking for, still used to being walked in on by their little sister. They paid her no mind, as they both knew that if she needed something, she could speak for herself.

"Uh," she took no notice of the men gathered around the wooden crate in the middle of the room that were playing cards, except for two certain young daredevils. "Shower?"

Immediately, both men stood up and wordlessly sandwiched her between them as they walked towards the showers. The men back in the bunk house wondered just what she was doing, asking the devil's very own tail to shower with her, and just what in the world she was doing in full-pack with a medic's bag. One of them, an especially handsome man, let his dark grey eyes linger on the door for a while longer after she had left. Did she not see him? Why was there no "hello"? All he had said to her were good things, and he _knew_ how to talk to women. He knew how to give compliments, how to be polite, and even how to be crude, but she had taught him how to just simply talk. Had he said something when just talked? She was simple; he liked that about her, and whenever he brought one of his boys to the hospital, he never made haste to leave. Though he knew he ought to be back at the camp, it was nice to have just a change of scenery. Even if it did mean dying people and needles, he was still glad of the change.

One of the boys around the wooden crate looked up at him after he had not responded to a question. "Hey, 'tenant, you goin' be okay?"

The southern drawl snapped him back to reality.

Looking back to his cards, and silently back at the man that spoke, he let the cold icy air about him spread to the rest of the room, and hang in the atmosphere. This air was not as cold or serious as his usual air during drills and P.T, and the usual day's worth of training, and so the men welcomed it gladly. It did yet still have that same scare factor, and he used it to his advantage during card games. And now that the devil's servants were gone, the men were even more vulnerable. Those two boys never feared him. Never had, and never would. Anyone around them would feel the confident and relaxed mannerisms about them, and it would be contagious among the men. He admired them for that, as most of the men were always afraid to do anything out of line. They were just relaxed around him, and he seemed to like the feeling from time to time. Being physically and emotionally strong was one thing, but being mentally strong _still_ was a completely different thing, on a very different level. They could take his ice cold glares, his silent demeanor, his brooding gazes, and harsh punishments. Heck, they'd even take the punishment even if it wasn't for them, and laugh about it later.

But overall, they were underachievers in all other fields of work. Their running time was dreadful, they weren't the best shots, and they were still learning the basic chains of command around here. But other than that, they were a different kind of man.

While he had been pondering this, Izzie and her two body guards trudged forth fearlessly, and with every awkward glance she received from men that were still away, the two men fired back glares of death of such ferocity, she was now wondering how the men were still alive. If looks really could kill, they would be smoldering piles of ashes right now.

But of course, the thought that kept her sane this night was that of a shower. A shower of peace, of calm, and of safety. Nothing and no one could get past these two powerhouses, and she thanked God every day that He made them so wonderfully. Nothing and no one got to their little sister, especially in a sea of men when she was stark naked and bathing. At night. Alone. In a foreign barracks' shower. She would be long gone by now if it wasn't for these two numskulls. One look was all it took to tell them that she needed them, and that what she needed them for was for them to be 'bodyguards' for a while. Sometimes beat a guy up. Either way, they always knew that look.

"You're not walking right," Davis asked, worried about her ankle. "What did they do to you?"

The morphine was starting to wear off right about now, and she couldn't help but feel a stinging sensation work its way into her calves and right into the knee cap. Not wanting to remove the knee cap or even think about it, she had decided a long time ago that morphine was the way to go as long as she kept her lips sealed.

"Oh!" she smiled so sweetly at them, laughing at her stupidity. "I tripped on my way down from Curahee. I was doing so darn good, too... It reminded me a little of when we would go to Wallowa Lake, and race up and down the hills there," the twins smirked at this memory, and Izzie continued in spinning her tale, "I started running past every man in the company," so, she was exaggerating a bit, but Davis didn't mind. He knew she could if she really wanted to, and he was darn proud of that. "and for a moment, I thought I could smell our Oregon air, you know. And it felt like home for that moment... But, then, I was so caught up in daydreaming that when someone yelled something behind me, I tripped and tumbled a bit down the hill. I twisted my ankle, but Eugene gave me morphine for the-"

"Who in Sam's hell is Eugene?" Jason asked from in front of her.

"A medic in Easy. He's been really good to me, Jace, so go easy on him."

"And has he ever looked at you strangely—or stared at you, perchance?"

"I... I don't know. I... I fell unconscious after the run, and I woke up to him-"

"IN BED WITH YOU?!" Jason cut in with his now rather boisterous voice.

"No, no, no! He took care of me!"

"WHILE IN BED?!"

"Did I hear morphine?" Davis chimed in the CIA questioning status. "What in Sam's hell was he doing giving you morphine for? More importantly, why didn't you give it to yourself? And even more importantly than my last comment, Izz, is what was it like? Did you completely lose it?" Davis was now excited as a small child who had just heard that his uncle was coming to town, and that he was bringing candy.

"He didn't want me to be... Well, you know...in pain during the march."

"MARCH!?" Brothers Davis and Jason roared, waking up about half the camp.

"You went on the march with a sprained ankle?!" Jason almost slapped her for being so silly.

"And he doped you up on morphine," Davis finished Jason's next thought in that sentence.

"Captain Sobel gave me an order, so I wouldn't get behind on my training, guys." Izzie spoke meekly now. She was tired, in pain, and her ears were starting to hurt.

"Sobel? As in Herbert Sobel?" Jason threw a glance over his shoulder, and it was caught discretely by Davis, who now wore a Devil-may-care smile on his lips.

They all looked alike. Same strawberry blond hair coloring, almost same amount of freckles, same dark eyelashes, almost the same rose bud pink lips (theirs were a lot manlier than hers), and same eyes. It was funny, as Jason and Davis were identical twins, that they would look this much like their little sister who was, in fact, four years younger than themselves. Their family wasn't a family to share looks all that often, and especially this much. Usually it was just their mother's eyes and nose, with their father's cheek bones, or just their father's eyes. Clifford had his father's eyes, while neither Izzie, Jason, nor Davis had any relationship to the parents in that way. Their mother had blond hair; their father auburn; and they themselves strawberry blond. A list of every single feature of the Finnegan boys would be far too long, and far too boring, so you will learn in time what they all looked like.

"Herbert Sobel, yes," Izzie replied. Her knee was starting to be a little more of a bother now, and even though the morphine was wearing off, she still didn't want to talk all that much for fear of a repeat of earlier this night.

Looking at each other once more and glaring, though not at each other, about that sorry excuse for a man that lived and breathed pain that they wished was in the middle of them. Having been too short to notice anything, as her brothers were almost 6'2'' in height, Izzie just went right on into the shower room and closed the door, knowing instinctively that her brothers would guard the door, and hopped right into an empty stall. Of course, all of them were empty right now at this time of the night. Midnight was not a popular shower time for early Wednesday morning, she knew. After tossing her clothing aside she welcomed the liquid warmth and relief that flowed freely from a shower head. It washed away her fatigue (not really, but she liked to believe it was so), her embarrassment, her aches, and actually did soothe her ankle and knee a bit.

She said a small prayer to God that night, thanking Him for small graces. There was soap and shampoo and conditioner, all in one stall, which she was more than happy to use. She frowned as she saw how dirty the water was as it flooded into the drain. Was she really that dirty? She hadn't showered after her tumble down Curahee... And she woke up right before the march. That might explain it. When she went to turn her foot up to clean, she frowned once more, hoping that she had somehow sleepwalked barefoot while knocked out. There just seemed to be too much dirt there for one foot to hold at the moment.

"Hurry it up, Izzie!"

"We've got a curfew, you know?"

She froze.

"Since when did you like obeying the rules?"

"She's got a point, Jace...."

"I guess so. Uh, take your time in their, Princess."

"Thank you."

She unfroze and began scrubbing the rest of herself down with soap. She was looking on the bright side right now. Despite the fact that this soap had most likely been used by some other man she never knew, it was still soap, and soap sanitized things which meant she would be clean regardless who had used it before her. As gross as that sounded, she had a very easy attitude toward these things. Soap is soap. Doesn't matter who used it, it's still soap. Remembering also that she had been dirtier in her life before,this just seemed like child's play on the dirt's account. She loved the mud, but she hated it when it dried on her skin and became all crackly and hard. It was just so... dry. Another thing that seemed to keep her spirits up was that right now, she wasn't anywhere close to the captain, or Easy. She was safe, in an empty shower room, with her two big brothers outside, guarding the door so that no one would ever come through.

Don't think poorly of her now; she was a strong, independent woman. But in an army camp full of men that had been trained to fight with a heart full of lust, she doubted her punches and wit could get her out of anything she didn't want to be in. She could fend for herself, but a lot of the men here were stronger than her, and she knew that as fact. One of her patients had to be held down by seven big, buff guys for her to even get near him to take his temperature. It was dark, and she was showering. This camp was about two thirds the size of her town. All of them men, minus the new addition of her. Ten of them her brothers. Two of them ready to beat the dirt out of any man who dared lay a their gaze on her. All of which would kill her future husband one day, as unfortunate for her as it was.

After she finished shampooing her hair and rinsing, she turned the water off, and took a clean towel for herself. It was rather large, but soft and fuzzy. Everything here was large. The hill that they called a mountain, the clothes, the socks, the beds, the towels... And she was puny. She quickly dried off and put her clothes back on, and walked outside feeling fresh and clean.

"Sandwich!" Jason said in a sing-song voice, and they left just as they came. Izzie in the middle, Jason in front of her, and Davis behind her.

Little did she know that something evil would be going down in a few hours, involving the two brothers.

As she neared Easy's barracks, Davis and Jason said their goodnights, knowing that if anything went wrong, the Quaker would stop it. They thought he was a Quaker, at least. Neither of them could figure it out...

She had made up her mind in the shower to visit the Aid Station for that extra dosage of morphine the Eugene had promised her, and knowing that she would be sleeping soon, she gladly hobbled over in its direction. The events of this night were all just a horrid, lucid nightmare of which she wished to awaken from. Everything—the entire march, the incident with Sobel, and especially the incident with Lewis (which had caused the incident with Sobel)—had been a nightmare. Leibgott had already teased her, asking her if she found Lewis Nixon attractive, and thus further provoked her into slumping her head and walking away. She had been used to this kind of treatment from her brothers, but tonight was just not the night for it. The one shoulder she thought she could lean on for support was a welcome sight as she neared the Aid Station. Eugene Roe sat on the edge of the step, his hair still wet from showering, and his skin was silky, and pale in contrast to his hair. He had a bronze medal on a string wrapped around his fingers, and his lips were moving, but little more that breath came from them.

She smiled as she realized that when she got closer, it was the medal of the Catholic faith, but she couldn't make out which one it was. The prayers, if prayed with reverence and not out of obligation, were deep, and always comforting in her mind. His silent words didn't help her at all in finding out which it was, as each medal had a different prayer (or so her vast knowledge of medals told her), though some had none. But, despite all of this, she could tell that he was not to be interrupted, as his face was that of utter concentration, devotion, and the aura about him was complete and absolute reverence. She began to wait for him to finish, but was interrupted in doing so by the very person she wished so deeply to disappear from.

"Miss Finnegan," the Black Swan's usual loud voice had a gentle, soft, yet stern tone to it, which caused not only Izzie to jump, but Eugene as well. "I need to speak to you for a moment in private, please."

She looked at him a little shocked at his manners, and nodded her head. "Of course."

Eugene Roe watched in horror as Izzie slowly walked over to his CO, fumbling with the straps on her medic bag as she neared him. In some small way, it reminded him of what a child would do when they found out they were in trouble—not making eye contact with the superior, trying to distract themselves, and, most importantly, walking as slow as could be possible without being entirely noticed. He didn't blame her for this. She had asked him in a very loud voice, and in front of his entire company, if he found Lewis Nixon attractive. She might have just pulled down his pants and stabbed him with anesthesia, and left him there and it would have all been the same to Sobel. More importantly, he had just asked to speak to her in private, which meant something was definitely about to go down.

And whether it was Izzie about to do one-hundred push-ups, or her face to lose its warm light, he didn't know.

Intently, he watched then as they conversed in hushed tones. He was right. Her face had suddenly lost every drop of warmth it had ever held in it. Even when she was knocked out from her run up Curahee, he had noted a gentle warmth about her features, and a small flicker of light as she slept. But, as the conversation delved deeper and deeper—as he could see by the looks on both their faces—Izzie's face began to darken as he had never seen. Her face began to slowly distort and twist itself, while Sobel's face began only to hold his usual sternness, but with a touch of kindness and sweetness as Eugene had also never seen.

Sobel had said something; Izzie smacked him straight across the face and made a beeline for Eugene, which to him scared him greatly. If he was next in line, he was in trouble. Her eyes were being fueled by unseen fire, and he swore, if her cheeks were not almost cranberry red, his name was not Eugene Gilbert Roe. Stomping right past him, she began her walk of terror in the direction left of him, and Eugene could only guess that what Sobel had said was beyond that of what he had right to.

Though, judging from his captain's face, he guessed that the man had no idea of what he had just said.

Herbert Sobel's face was as innocent as Eugene had ever seen during his stay under his command, and it was just as questioning as he imagined his own face looking. Izzie, as far as he had seen, had _never_ harmed a human being in ways that were unnecessary, and, well, intentionally hurtful. Surgery was a different case than this, and he had never seen her perform one before. Though he had known her for only two days, he saw that even as she tripped during her trek down Curahee, she blamed no one despite it being Sobel's very own fault, and with the help of Burton 'Pat' Christenson, had made it through with a smile on her face despite her knowing that it was all Sobel's fault. She respected the men there, he could tell, and knew that she knew the inner workings of men, and even the masks and acts that they flaunt around the women as well as men.

Sobel, standing there, seemed dark, and gloomy. It was understandable; he was merely concerned for her health, and the first thing he gets for being concerned about a 'man' of his was a slap across the face. It was harder than any slap he had ever gotten from a woman, and could hardly grasp the fact that he, indeed, was hit by a woman. In a bar fight he had tried to break up a few weeks ago, one of the men had hit him pretty hard by accident (somehow, he wasn't sure about that), but not as hard as Izzie. Then again, she was not your typical female. She even made it into the training program for paratroopers-to-be, without having so much as to lift a finger. And, mind you, being surrounded by men and planning on jumping out of airplanes with bullets flying at you in every which way was not something women had ever wanted to do.

He stared at her darkening, disappearing figure, noting the sudden harsh step she now carried with her. What had he done wrong? He was just trying to care for her. To watch her back, to make sure her brothers knew that she was in good hands—both during training and during her free time. Deciding it best to think it over overnight, he headed off his lodgings and began pondering while trying to sleep.

What had he done wrong?

After unbuttoning his shirt and placing it neatly on a coat hanger, he began removing the rest of his personal affects. His undershirt was folded and placed in his 'cubbyhole'; his leather jacket on a hanger; his socks in his unlaced boots; and his jumpsuit neatly folded and placed on top of another jumpsuit on top of his personal shelf; he laid himself to bed, staring at the ceiling for quite a long while.

It was so hard for him. He was charged with looking out for her, training her, and teaching her, and now, she hated him. She hated his very guts; he was sure of that. Rerunning the conversation over and over in his head, he failed to notice the one thing that had lead her to rage and hurt, which puzzled him the most. Merely wanting to check up on her and making sure that he wasn't pushing her too far was not a crime, was it?

In his training, the very thing he strived for was reality. He wanted the men to know that if they were in war in a foreign country, they may at any time need to pack their gear and move out as fast as they could. He wanted to show them what they would have to face, such as long runs and marches, as well as being forced to move while injured. If anything, he wanted his men to be the best, because if they were the best, then he wouldn't lose a single one of them in war due to petty problems, or for no good reason. Losing a man here just meant that he was getting to the tougher, more Army-made men, who were willing to push through anything for their country. They were becoming the very best of the best.

Heck, from what he had seen while observing other companies train, they _were_ the best of the best as far as Camp Toccoa went. Though, Dog Company was a good, solid, well-disciplined company, as well. But, their record time for Curahee was twenty-five minutes and seventeen seconds; his was twenty-five minutes and eleven seconds. He enjoyed having the best company in the battalion. It made him proud.

Which brought him back to the question of Miss Elizabeth Finnegan, somehow. Then again, he supposed that he just wanted to think about what he had said to her, and why in God's good name he was smacked like that.

Elizabeth—as he guessed that was her full name—was God knows where, and normally he would have dragged her back to her barracks, but this wasn't the time for that. She needed space, to be away from him; to think about what she had just done. And the more she hated him, the more she would try to beat her standing records for exercises, runs, and marches. To try and beat him at his very own game would be an incredible feat, and once she had attempted it, he would show her that this was no place for a woman. Men were strong—like mountains— but she was warm like a field of wheat in the summertime, happily flowing wherever the wind blew her. Easy to break, easy to snap, easy to…He was using the word 'easy' too much in relation to her. He didn't mind her being here as long as she went his way, and not the highway. Well, he wasn't completely fine with her being here. Elizabeth was a woman, and this was no place for a woman. Though she was not trained in combat, he still disagreed with her occupation. Women were meant to stay home, cook food, clean the house, and raise the children.

One of the sad things in his mind about this whole ordeal was that despite being a ranking officer to the majority of her brothers, he knew that if he did do anything irreversible to Elizabeth, they would beat him to a pulp. Clifford was also very clear about their lack of respect and restraint about solving problems that were connected to the family. Of course, he had also told him that Glenn was a savage beast when provoked, and Herbert highly doubted that. The man was a wimp. He still questioned himself on how Glenn was even still here. But, he was in George Company, which was nice for him. He had not a Finnegan child in the entire company until two days ago, and by the looks of it, she was rather tame compared to her brothers. her hair could definitely use some curls in it, though. It was too darn short and straight.

As he drifted off to sleep, thinking up words to say to her the next morning, he could have sworn he heard someone try to muffle a sneeze outside. He assumed it was Sergeant Evans making the rounds; he drifted off to sleep, peacefully, and dreamed solely of being back home—Georgia just wasn't the same as his own home. Though, he most certainly did not miss his old job, he still missed the memories and the scents that would linger in the air when his next door neighbor would teach her child how to bake, or the way his bed had a specific arch at the feet after numerous years of being in use. This cot was uncomfortable, the springs in the mattress seemed to always jab him, and the pillow had an unbearable stench. He was glad that, for the first time in many months, he was able to escape to his memory within a dream, if only for the night. Despite never having a large love for his old home, the months and work seemed to slowly yet steadily turn his heart around to the point so that sometimes, all he wanted was his bed. _His_ bed—not a cot. So he was, undoubtedly, and very much considerably glad to be home once more, if only for a dream that night.

Now, in a housing unit not three houses down from his own, a girl had let herself fall, face-flat on her new bed, and let the joyous aroma of clean sheets sink into her skin. Never before had she ever felt a mattress so soft and welcoming and comfortable at the same time. Why, what was her bed back home in comparison to this lovely cloud? She tensed at first as she felt a needle glide through her skin, but upon feeling the effects of the drug almost instantly, she relaxed. Grabbing her pillow and sinking her head into it, she began to feel the wonderful dreams already pouring into her mind, and as she wandered through a field just blooming bright and beautifully in color, a voice called out to her. Slowly, she raised her head from her sacred dreamland. The look on her face was hardly explainable through words, as it was a complete mix of emotions. It was joyous, relaxed, elated, dreamy, and a peaceful serenity, all mixed in one very childish, satisfied, freckled face. As hard as it was to put in words and understand it from reading those words, it was a completely 'Izzie' look that was easy to understand once you saw her; her face and eyes just spoke for themselves. And you could not—in the entire camp, let alone town—find a happier person both in aura, in expressions, and in emotions at this moment. Not even the man that had just proposed to his girl was happier than her at this moment, and that was really saying something. At this point, she had put aside the other moments of this night, and let herself go from the restraints that would keep her down longer than she desired.

"Yes?" her voice was ever so dreamy, and her eyes, though still bright as the moon, were glazed over with a contently happy smile. Looking behind her, she saw her favorite new medic, Eugene Roe.

He looked a bit startled by her sudden surge of emotions, and had never known that anyone could wear so many different sincerities at once. She was a complete puzzle to him. Everyone he knew had the emotional range of a twig compared to this medical student that lay smiling in front of him, still in her gear, which did indeed look next to terrible on her. She was swimming in it, despite the fact of it being the smallest uniform he had ever seen, and the sleeves were like that of a kimono (as far as he knew, at least). She looked rather clean, though, and he could still smell the lye soap that still lingered on her. Looking at her a bit suspiciously, he spoke.

"I gave you the last of the morphine," he began smiling slightly at the welcoming warmth that just seemed to be floating about the air now, "from before the march. If you don't mind mah askin', Miss Finnegan, I'd like to know just _how much_ morphine you've had today. I know I gave you a full dose today, but not all at once." A small smile seemed to grace his lips, which made Izzie smile even more, as she had known him to be a quiet, shy man, who according to George Luz, hardly had time to smile.

"The bed." She replied simply. "And the pillow. Back home, I had Walter's old mattress, and I've never _ever_ felt a bed _this_ soft and, and… wonderful! I can't believe you boys get all of this for free," she gave him a wide grin, and sat up. Despite being in her 'amazingly attractive' jumpsuit, she didn't feel at all uncomfortable with a few of the men staring and listening to her now. "well, I mean, me, too. It's the loveliest bed I have ever seen! And the pillow…Eugene you have _never_ tried a pillow like this pillow before, have you? I know I haven't. And if I ever had, Elijah would have stolen it from me…"

Eugene chuckled silently.

"The bed?" Lewis chimed into their conversation from the other side of the room, clothing in complete disarray. "You're in love with a cot? Look, I know you're new here and all, Izzie, but this is a camp full of men, and you choose the _bed_?"

"Morphine, sir," Roe was kind enough to point out the semi-obvious. Nixon just averted his gaze from the dazed freckle face, afraid that she might become a little bit difficult, and that Davis and Jason would find him. And hurt him. But of course, you must remember that he hadn't known Izzie all that well, and also that they had only met half a week ago. His fears of her doing something drug-induced that would land the entire bunkhouse in trouble with her brothers would not have been there if he had known that she, indeed, was a restrained and disciplined young lady, who at this very moment had fallen asleep in a matter of seconds and was snoring quietly. He had never heard a woman snore before. Not even his sister, Blanche, had ever snored, or any of her girlfriends that spent the night with her, on the nights that he was home.

"Lucky bastar... dear Lord, I wish Jackson didn't know how to do that.." Lewis quickly corrected his language, chuckling a little at what it had been corrected _to_ exactly. His late-night grogginess was starting to scare him a bit. But, why the heck should he give a darn about it? It was what it was; he was fine with that. But there was something that he wasn't all that fine with…

Jealously seemed to embrace him at the sight of Izzie being able to fall asleep so fast without any fears of the men around her, and especially with Eugene Jackson in the room snoring his merry time away like it was his darn mansion that no one could hear him in… Just the thought of sleep made Lewis dread it. Normally, he loved sleeping. It made him feel like he wasn't in this hell hole anymore; back home, he knew everyone slept well on fine wine, scotch, and sometimes rum, dreaming in feather soft beds. Lewis missed that more than anything these days. A bed. A soft, comfortable bed. How could she be so happy with such a horrid cot? It was springy, thin, and hardly even stuffed. His reeked of alcohol and sweat, just like every other cot in his lovely little cottage.

But, he supposed then that knowing Izzie herself, and just knowing her name were two very separate things. If you knew her name, you could say 'hi' to her, maybe a little small talk here and there, but never getting to the center of it all. But if you knew Izzie, her being, and all that she was, and everything that she wasn't…. Well, then. You really knew something more than just a face—you knew that the heart was right where it was supposed to be, and never ran away anyplace else.

Staring at her with eyes glazed over by thought, he heaved a sigh. She was so simple, but everything about her from her transfer to her short hair was complicated. He wondered how a girl could be so many things, some of which were even being opposites with her own self. She seemed so peaceful under the effects of the morphine now, like that march had never happened, and she was safe in her own 'horrid' bed back home. He didn't get it.

Everything good had a bad ending, so he wondered if it had a reversed meaning now that he saw Izzie. Quite frankly, he hated his endings.

* * *

**Hey guys! I'm so sorry that there wasn't all that much dialogue in this one.... I tried though! Nothing seemed to come to me, but hopefully you still enjoyed it. And sorry that this isn't the sixteen pages that I told you I hoped to write... It's twelve. :D**

**But, really, I am! I DO know what's going to happen in the next chapter, and I'm going to speed things up a bit seeing as how we're at chapter eight and everyone is still at Toccoa... Ehehehe. ;)**

**I liked the ending. I didn't think I could go on after that, so I left it like that. The writing of the next chapter will take place immediately, though it may be a little bit later because I'm also trying to come up with chapter 2 of Everything & In Between, because I'm sure chapter one has everyone puzzled to the bone. But, that is off topic... **

**Notes:**

**1) In the army (nowadays) it's a no-ask, no-tell subject about sexuality. Back then, I imagine asking a commanding officer while under the influence if he was gay was pretty darn out of line, and a very big deal. Especially asking Sobel that. **

**2) Q: What did Sobel say to her?**

**A: Oh, it's great. See, he thought that, well, she.... Okay, you'll find out later. :D MWUAHAHAH. **

**3) Next chapter, because I have lost tally once again, I shall take votes. "Why? Don't you already have our votes?" you ask? Well, yes, sort of... But I've completely lost track of them, and I want to know what you think of after the next chapter. Why? It's a bit of a turning point; more people will be brought it, and you'll get to see Izzie flourish more into character.... As if she didn't have enough character for all of us here. HAH!**

**4) Q: This seemed kind of pointless... what was the point of this chapter again?**

**A: That seemed more like an opinion rather than a question... But I guess I'll answer that. The point? Why, to be part of the story, of course! And to maybe brush up on Sobel's character a bit... He seems like he'd be confused by a girl like her. Maybe that's just my opinion, though.... Hrm. :\**


	9. The Difference

**Author's note: YAY! I'm normal again! I started writing, and I expected it to take as long as the last chapter did (I started working on that since after the 7th chapter was finished), so when I finished this, I was like, "Really? That's all? But, it's just getting good! Darn it..." So here you are, chapter nine - "The Difference"**

**And I gots a job at my chiropractor's office! YAAAAY! I shred paper! And I file folders! And help treat people! And write prices on pills bottles! And don't get paid because it's an internship and I love the people I work with! I go in only when I'm feeling good enough to, so you guys still get me most of the time. C;**

**Um, more news: I just bought Guarnere's book, Malarky's book (-- I wrote 'butt' at first.... LMAO.), and Buck's book, strictly for 'school' and 'history class'. So expect and upgrade in story-line and events soon! Maybe the chapter eleven? Oh, I need to hurry my butt up.... Okay, also:**

**_VOTING! _****There's a poll on my profile page, and you vote your favourite MEN there! By the end of this week, or by the time my next chapter will be up, I'll close the poll and give you the results.**

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own nor claim to own Band of Brother or the real men of Easy Company. **I do, however, own everything that you would never guess I owned, including Izzie Finnegan, the bellybutton in the following scene, and salad in the following chapter. And I don't own Malarky's butt. :(

* * *

_Two inches above the belly button, and a pinky to the left…_

She moved her hand discreetly in a way that no one else would notice that she was mentally measuring the distance, and let her hand glide gently over the skin. It was smooth and creamy and very delicate. She felt a very familiar, very distinct puncture as she ventured down southward, taking her time as she slowly but steadily readied the site.

A loud gasp pierced the silence, and just like that, everything went up in flames. A baby started crying, causing most of the men in the room to jump in surprise; and she was still going for it. There was panic on every side of her, but she paid them no mind. It was their choice to be here, and it was not made by her. Why should she be the one to blame?

"Aw, Christ," one of them gasped. "The drip! Get it back in; he can't wake up! Not now, not anytime until after the she's finished!"

"I f—cking swear, Doc," a man holding a seven month old baby hissed at her, "that this can't be sanitary, hygienic, or safe! Why the **hell** is a baby in the O.R!? And why the hell do I have to hold it? More to the point, Doc…. Who the f—ck let you in the medicine school?!"

"Oh, crap, it's crying! Don't cry, little guy! Look what I've got... a lighter! And look at what it does!" the technician flicked it on, and for a moment, the baby was silent, watching the flame flicker up and down. And then, he started crying again. "Don't cry! Come on,"

"...I am _never_ having kids."

She paid him no mind, and continued on the surgery as the men struggled to make peace with their own instruments, which seemed to be out for blood today. Not in a dark way. Everything in that room seems cursed today, as number one it was bad luck to have a baby watching an operation; and number two having a girl perform the operation who couldn't be more than at least sixteen years old; a list would be written later that day of what was bad luck to have in the O.R.

She herself could hardly believe what had transpired to bring a baby into an operation room, why it wasn't the actual patient, why she was in a "proper" room rather than a housing hut, and just why it was that everything was so completely hectic that day.

* * *

_It had been three weeks since she had joined the training with Easy Company, and she could not be doing any better. Her ankle had healed, she now laughed at herself with Eugene while pondering that night march weeks ago, and she had become quite good friends with the medics Eugene Roe and Edwin Pepping, who all knew by heart the sounds of each other's footsteps and breathing. _

_She was now, much to the Company's surprise, becoming even closer friends with Bull, Joe Toye, Bill Guarnere, and most shockingly, Major Robert Strayer. All of them played a key part in her daily rituals. Strayer would accompany her at breakfast in the mess hall on Saturday and Sunday morning, as she packed away as much as she could fit into her mouth (which he found both hilarious and unladylike but also very entertaining), and drank just about as much milk or orange juice as the kitchen had to offer. They would talk business, usually about the way the men were being treated, how everyone was getting along, and how Herbert was very strong in encouraging the men to __**always**__ do their best, no matter what. Strayer would also take her schedule for the weekend to her each Friday and drive her to the hospital in a US Army-issued olive colored jeep, making sure she was there on time. Not to mention in style in the nurses' eyes. Of course, Izzie was absolutely oblivious as to any comments about it. There was nothing more than friendship developing between the pair, though most of what brought them together was Clifford's favor asked of Robert to keep an eye on her._

_She had been very proud of herself during her fourth breakfast with him. She had finally gotten him to smile. And by the sixth breakfast with him, he was laughing. As she had been told by Joe Leibgott (though now she called him 'Leib'), Major Strayer was a hard-ass who had a branch shoved up his butt by someone, and whoever had done the deed, they made sure to shove that stick up sideways. Joe owed her two bucks now. Izzie would not forget about that, no sir! Two bucks was two bucks!_

_Befriending Bill Guarnere and Joe Toye had been a challenge, as they had been the most biased against her joining Easy Company. Surprisingly, it was her need for new clothes and a shopping trip on her first day off that finally broke the ice. When she had arrived at Toccoa, she had three dresses in her possession: rose pink, navy blue, and copper—all of them cotton. Bill Guarnere said that he couldn't have Easy being disgraced by a poor taste in dresses, as apparently she was the new face of the Company. Joe Toye firmly stood by Bill on this, so both men accompanied her on her shopping trip. It was d__uring their little outing to town for shopping that Izzie began __growing on them. Little by little, she had become, in a small way, a friend to them. It took what seemed to be a lifetime in her eyes for them to get over their bias, but soon they became a daily part of life for her. Get up at the crack of dawn, do everything she was supposed to do, eat breakfast at a large table, and then be nagged by Joe Toye and Bill. It was the highlight of her day, no joke._

_Now, Bull was very different than her brothers. He was smart, smoked nothing' but cigars, and was… well, smart. Caring in a way different than her brothers—a way other than her brothers' tough love dogma—but it was a similar care all the same. As was the agreement between her and her brothers that she would never shower without either them or some other trustworthy, agreeable man that all of them knew and approved of, Bull was that man. He had been good to her, and respected her both as a woman and a surgeon (after a long while), and now was more like a brother to her than ever. Even at times, she could swear she heard an overly-protective tone in his voice when someone said something about her, and he would fire something back at them. The men of other companies did not trust her or know her as Easy now knew her, and therefore a lot of insults and jokes were directed in the Company's general direction, if not at Izzie herself._

_She had come to trust the men here in Easy and developed over these weeks a deep love of—odd as this may sound—a mother. She fixed them up when they were hurt, witnessed grown men crying (though it was rare), and more importantly, was able to see the virtues that resided in each man's heart here, even Sobel himself, though she daren't admit it. _

_If anything were to happen to these boys, the captain would have to prove his logic in the punishment to her first before he could even get to them. He had to go through her only when dealing with harsh physical punishments before he could hand them out, as was the agreement when she had first met him. She enjoyed being the head of the medical care around Easy. It gave her a warm, fuzzy feeling inside every time she told Herbert, "That's enough." _

_Ironically enough because of the 'motherly' factor she had for Easy, Colonel Sink called her in during the end of her fourth week of her for a private meeting with him. She moseyed on down to the office and was politely surprised to see a woman, about fifteen years younger than her own mother, and in her arms was a beautiful, seven month old baby who had the most wonderfully playful brown eyes and a lovely head of nutmeg hair. _

"_Are you sure about this, Robert? I mean, I don't doubt your judgment, but it's just that with Anne and Jeremy back home with my sister, I don't think it's a good idea to further separate our family. Little Charles here needs me." The woman spoke. _

_Neither she nor her husband seemed to notice the cheerful, smiling strawberry blonde in the doorway. They continued their conversation as if she was never there. _

"_Oh, Christine! It'll be fine, darlin'. Just fine. You're in town, and I've got a weekend pass—what could be more perfect? Besides, there's a very nice hotel not too far from here, and they owe me a few favors there,"_

"_But, Robert!—I will not leave my baby in the arms of a stranger! A pig is what she is! A common whore, raised among wild boars that have no boundaries! The fact that she lives and sleeps in a house full of men that are not related to her is fact enough that she is not to be trusted! Lord knows what she's done, or is about to do!"_

"_Christine, listen to me now, darlin'. She's been a boat load of good to my men, and she has a very high moral—"_

_She decided that it was time to let them know that she was there by coughing. _

"_Colonel Sink, sir, you wanted to see me?" she asked as if she had not heard the insults that had been thrown at her just now._

"_Ah," he smiled, turning from his wife and child, "Miss Finnegan. Meet my lovely wife, Christine. Now I've got a bit of an odd favor to ask you. Mrs. Sink's and my anniversary is this Sunday, and well, frankly, we'd like to go off because I don't know the next time I'll see her."_

_Izzie nodded her head solemnly, trying to grasp how she figured into all of this, and just why a random baby was in his wife's arms. _

"_Erm, I'm not sure I see how I figure into this, Colonel Sink, sir."_

"_Well, I figured since you got yourself ten brothers," Mrs. Sink gasped as she heard the words 'ten' and 'brothers' used in the same sentence, "that you might know a lot about kids,"_

"_With all due respect sir, I think you might have forgotten that all of my brothers are older than me, sir."_

"_Duly noted,"_

"_She __**is not**__ taking my baby!" Mrs. Sink whispered in a harsh tone to her husband._

"_It's okay, Christine. She's a responsible young woman, and I doubt she's ever had a beau in her life. Ain't that right, Miss Finnegan?"_

_Her left eye twitched slightly, but she knew he was right. "Correct, sir…"_

"_Well, there we go! Here's the baby, money for babysittin', and his bag! Have fun, Miss Finnegan,"_

_And with that, both man and wife were out the door. She blinked, hardly knowing what had just gone on. Suddenly she cringed upon hearing a very loud voice._

"_Come on, Mrs. Sink! The hotel's waiting!"_

_Looking down at the poor baby, she silently prayed to God that she would not be married to a man like that at that age, with a baby only seven months old. This was an odd surprise, both to her and to the baby, who was looking up at her with eyes wide and curious. _

_How in the world would he fit into her schedule this weekend? She was completely booked—even throughout lunch, she had places to be, people to open, things to remove, etc. etc…._

_

* * *

  
_

And that was five long hours ago. Now she found herself in that hectic, almost chaotic, operating room, with little Charles in the arms of the technician who seemed to have a deep hatred toward babies.

"Doc," he began, "why the hell is he in here in the first place?! Is it even a _he_? I can't tell—you're suffocating him with all these make-shift scrubs! Christ alive!—is he _peeing_?!"

"He's in scrubs, sanitized, and he's wearing a mask," she replied in a monotone voice, still operating on the patient. "I think that's just as good as any of us here, is it not? There should be no problem, here, Jacob."

"It's a baby! Seven months old!" he shouted over the infant's loud crying and screaming.

"He won't remember this. And all of you," she paused, looking up from the body that lay in front of her with a clean cut right down his abdomen, and pointed the bloody scalpel at each of the other technicians in the room. "better not tell Colonel Sink about this, alright? One peep and you'll be on this table instead of this lovely gentleman, alright?"

Her sudden 'doctor mode/baby-sitter mode' had been very much a surprise to all that had not known her. As when they were first introduced, she was her usual, sweet, cheerful, friendly self. But as soon as she entered the O.R, the men were a little bit scared. She meant business, and she should not be disturbed unless necessary. Now she was cynical, dark, and, well… serious.

They all nodded their heads in agreement, most of them putting their hands up as if to surrender as she pointed the sharp, bloody scalpel towards them, shaking it like it was her forefinger. They had all agreed later that day that she had lost it.

"Good. Now, let's see here," she began 'exploring' the cut she had made, but something was not going well with this. "Uh-oh. You're not supposed to be there, big guy."

This got the attention of all the technicians in the room, and they were now crowded around the man's stomach. It was huge, larger than any Izzie had ever seen in her life, and very, very dangerous looking.

"Good Lord…." Breathed one man.

"Holy f—king shit…" Jacob gasped.

She sighed, a pit forming in the depth of her stomach. "Okay, boys and gal. Time to get to work. None of you, and I mean none of you, are to give me less than one hundred and ten percent, alright? This kiddo is either going to crash on us, or live through this and have a life if we all do our jobs. Allen, I want you to regulate the anesthesia more—make sure he's not overdosed, and that he's ready for a longer period of time under the influence. Lord knows how long this will take… Brennan, I want you to do _exactly_ as I say, you hear? And Jacob, don't you _dare_ put that baby down. Eleanor, when I ask you for an instrument, you better hand it to me lickety-split, or I'll box your ears, you hear?

"That isn't your average Joe tumor—it's a ticking time bomb. The good Lord might strike us down with lightning if we can't get this one out right. I hear any complaints about you never seeing this kind of thing before in your little town, I may remind you that this is not going to be easy for any of us, and I'll have you fired for not doing your job," Izzie added.

They all nodded once again. She sighed, looking down at the man, wondering what his story was and what his life was like. She didn't have much time to decide what to do and how to do it, but she just seemed to do it out of instinct. She needed a sponge, a scalpel—preferably with a new number ten blade—a hemostat clamp, and a few various and sundry other tools.

This was going to be a long day.

* * *

Two hours gone by at the drop of a hat.

She now sat, straight and as tall as she could be, as she was having a very odd, good day. Little Charles was fast asleep in her arms, snoring slightly. She smiled as she felt the breath of the babe tingle on her skin, through her lab coat, and wondered how he had become so light. The afternoon sun shone brightly through the windows of the hospital cafeteria as she shoveled whatever it was that they were serving into her mouth. She didn't care what it was—food was food. And she would eat it unquestionably, as she had done all her life. With thirteen mouths to feed, there never really was that much of a choice or variety of food, and she had never questioned anything other than if it was made with love or not. She could see clearly that this shepherd's pie—mush, if you will—was most certainly _not_ made with love.

She smiled nevertheless as the warmth slowly began to fill her tummy, knowing that in about fifteen more minutes, she would begin to regain her strength again and be able to carry out the day's work that was yet to be done. Her face was beginning to glow once more, and her hair, though messily curled, had a red tint to it in the sunlight, making her clearly stand out from the rest of the workers there.

One man in particular whom she had known and befriended right here in the hospital had noticed her the minute he walked through the doors. He smiled to himself as he saw her eating like it was nothing more than brushing her teeth. Though he knew the food was slightly better than the food at camp, it still wasn't all that great. But, something else caught his eye. Something rather small, rather nutmeg haired, and rather young, that was in a rather deep sleep on her shoulder.

Had it really been that long since he last saw her…? Three weeks had gone by to his knowledge, but then he remembered that when you're with her and chatting, time can just fly by, and you'll never know until you look at your watch.

He walked up to her, still smiling, but a curious twinkle played in his eyes. She did not notice him as he came over, as she was occupying herself with thinking about how many crunchy leaves she could step on her way back to her distant relation's house. She had to spend the weekend with them, you see, as she knew that Winters would never approve of a baby in the house, even if it was over the weekend.

Seeing yet one more leaf fall, she sighed, smiling a smile that _yearned_ with all its might for her to stomp on it, and hear the wonderful sound it would make as she did so.

Izzie was thrust back into reality as a very, _very_ crunchy-looking, red leaf was held up in front of her, spinning as if to taunt her. She followed the fingertips of the being that held the leave to the hand; the hand to the arm; the arm to the shoulder; and finally the face.

"Lieutenant Speirs!" she exclaimed with joy. Charles, the baby, stirred a bit in his slumber.

"Miss Finnegan." Ronald acknowledged. "I knew it had been a long time since I saw you last, but I didn't think it had quite been _that_ long. May I ask how old…?"

She smiled even wider, glowing even more now that she was in the presence of a friend.

"He's seventh months, sir. Isn't he beautiful? Just look at that hair." she gazed dreamily at the deep, rich nutmeg brown hair that adorned the babe's head, and was careful not to wake him.

"Seventh months? He's going to be a big man someday. What's his name?" he smiled lightly as he gently glided his forefinger over the cheek of Charles.

"Charles, sir. Isn't it a strong, manly name?" Izzie giggled as she said this. She couldn't quite find a different word to describe the name, but she knew the word she was looking for started with an 'M', so she just picked manly. Somehow, it almost worked.

Speirs nodded. "Masculine, Miss Finnegan. Very masculine," (that was the exact word she was looking for. She made a mental note right then to remember that word from here on out.) "and it almost sounds like he might someday go to Harvard, or Yale. Maybe even become a famous professor, or if you're lucky, be a West Pointer, and become a _decent_ general someday."

"Hmm," she seemed to ponder his words, as if daydreaming about seeing Charles graduate at the top of his class, wherever he would go. "I think it would be just as good if he were a trooper, sir, and fighting hard for his country. Maybe a general, and maybe not… Maybe even a paratrooper in Dog Company, or Easy, sir, or even a cook!"

"Oh, I wouldn't curse him with being a cook, Miss Finnegan," he smirked. "None of the boys here can hardly tell what's salt and what's pepper. I imagine that your food back home was right better than this material they use to feed us here,"

"Er, sir, I thought food was food? I've eaten my fair share here, and I tell you, sir, it's been good having a belly full of hot foo—er—eating material, as you would call it." She playfully winked at him, grinning all the while to show she was just having a little fun.

He looked dumbfounded at her. Didn't she care what it tasted like? Didn't she have a preference; all his men had moaned and groaned time after time about the meal that was set before them, yet here she was, eating her merry break away. Didn't she have a preference like pork over beef, or bacon over sausages? Did she even _know_ what she was eating? It looked like canned cat food to him, in all honesty. He could not stand the look of it or smell of it, but the salad on her plate looked fresh and clean. He would gobble that up in a heartbeat if it was served in camp.

But when he looked up at her once more, he noticed that she seemed to radiate a sort of motherly love for the little boy, who was still asleep in her arms. Speirs felt it in her general aura, and knew what it was, as his mother had a similar aura about her when she was proud of her son. She began gently rocking the baby in her arms as he began to stir even more, as if to tell her that he could not sleep, and in that moment Speirs saw the light and love in her eyes as she did so. He wondered who the father was, where he was, and why she wore no wedding band. More importantly, if she had had this child before she even came to Curahee, why would she request to live, sleep, and eat with the men?

They were filthy creatures, and she was a very tidy woman. Woman… Should he be using that phrase on her? From what he had learned of her, she was more childish in trusting than he had ever met, and when he found her age to be only twenty, he was even more taken aback. Many brothers though she had, it was still no excuse for that. She shared a bunkhouse with the men, took meals with the men, dressed like men during Personal Training (much to the dismay of her brothers), and even showered in the men's showers, instead of the ones in the hospitals.

For Davis and Jason had gradually stopped being called upon in the middle of the night, and he knew the siblings' agreement to watch her back while she showered; another man must have her trust to be the one on guard duty now. Was she a whore? Is that the reason for her discretion of the baby? Of never showing it to him, or introducing it to him? Because she was ashamed of herself? But it was so obvious that she loved Charles. He could see that clearly.

"Who's the lucky father?" he mused lightly.

"Colonel Sink, sir," she let a biggest smile he had ever seen escape from her eyes, and quite suddenly, both she and he froze in place.

She froze because of the look of disgust on his face; he froze because of the name of the father.

"Speirs, sir? Are you alright? You look terribly angry, and rather… well, _purple_! I've never seen such a purple face before. But I don't doubt that Colonel Sink would have had a similar coloring if I had refused him and his wife on taking care of his child while he was away. He seemed to be awfully happy not to have any kids on his hands as soon as he left his office!" she heaved a pleasant, content sigh.

His features seemed to change from that of a rather upset man, to that of a rather confused yet surprised one. He looked at her, and then back at the baby, and then back at her, giving a pleasant, shy smile.

"You'll have to excuse me, Miss Finnegan. I was under the impression that he was your son," he chuckled pleasantly to himself, mainly. Izzie looked up at him and laughed as she had never laughed before in quite a long time, her eyes dancing like the carnelian red leaves outside, and her freckles making everything so much more simple, and fun.

"Oh, no," she said politely. "he's not mine. Other than his habit of falling asleep instantly, he's not all that much like me, sir. I'm still single, and if I had ever had a child… Well, you know Davis and Jason. They would be in jail for murdering some poor fellow, and then neither of us would have ever known each other. And I might have done something harmful to myself if I had never met you, you know, sir. It was awfully boring here for awhile. Nobody knew my name, my job—not even that I worked here sometimes! They used to say I looked too young to be a medical student, or even a nurse, so every now and then, a doctor would tell me that they had seen me too many times around the building, march me to the Chief of Medicine, and try to report me for something like stealing…. I think it maybe sometimes was terrorism?"

Ronald had never heard this story of hers before, and Izzie being Izzie, she had peaked his interest once more. The night that they met, he had caught a doctor calling her a surgeon one moment, and another nurse calling her a nurse the next. As confused as he was, he had decided not to ask about the matter. He knew women were capable of anything once they set their minds to it, so he who was he to disrupt her job?

Finding himself once again amused by the young girl, he decided to stay a bit longer, and listen to her. Her voice was cheerful and sweet like honey, yet smooth and flowing like a small stream and it always seemed to suppress a storm of laughter that would often erupt from her while she was speaking of her brothers.

He could listen to her read a dictionary all day and never grow tired of it. And it wasn't just his opinion of her that made him feel that way—her voice really was easy to listen to, yet unique enough to know that it belonged to her. He had befriended her long ago, about three months ago, when Jason had come in with a broken toe, and they had met. He liked having her as a friend, because he knew that he was always welcomed in the hospital, and always had someone to talk with. Even if it was Izzie that was doing the talking, he was happy to hear a female voice so relaxed in his presence. He was so used to every girl trying to catch his eye that he had forgotten that women do indeed have brains that don't run on hormones.

Sitting up in a more comfortable position, he stole a few bites of salad from her plate, as he savored each piece's flavor on his taste buds, for he had forgotten just how fresh vegetables are supposed to be.

"Well, Miss Finnegan," Speirs started, "I do believe that that is the finest salad I have ever tasted since before coming to Camp Toccoa. If I had any say-so on the matter of this weekend with Charles, I would send him to cooking school and have a Mass said for him. This Army needs cooks that can cook more than canned spinach, even if he is a bit young."

He winked playfully at her, and from there they continued their conversation. They conversed more upon the subject of food and cooking, but somehow, everything always led back to Izzie's beloved Oregon, and her beloved woods and prairies, and the lake that was as blue as the sky. Before she knew it, they had both become so lost in their conversation that each had lost track of time. Speirs needed to meet up with a friend in town, and Izzie had an important surgery she needed to be present for… Ten minutes earlier. Saying a quick goodbye to him, she went on her way with Charles, rushing to bathe him and change him into scrubs, put a hair-net on him, and then do the same for herself.

Oh, this day would be even longer than she had first thought.

* * *

**Alright my loves, tell me what you think! Originally, this was a longer document, but I decided that since I was still having sooo much fun with it, I'd break it into two chapters, publish this one for you, and move things around from there.**

**As I said, I would speed time up (Oh, how I wish I could do this in real-life!), put in more characters.... And no, I honestly did NOT have this in mind, or see it coming. Especially not Speirs and the baby... That one shocked me as I wrote it. I was like, "Where the heck did this come from...? Nuuuu! The narggles are getting to me! D:" === harry potter joke right there.**

**Anywho, the next chapter I know will have MUCH more dialogue, more characters, cooler events.... And tons more food. Goodness, I'm getting hungry just thinking about Thanksgiv-er, you didn't here any of that. At ALL.**

**Notes:**

**1) _VOTING! VOTE YOUR FAVOURITE PAIRING (EASY CO. BOY) ON MY PROFILE PAGE! IF YOU DON'T HAVE AN ACCOUNT, SUBMIT A REVIEW WITH YOUR VOTE._**

**2) The 'F-Bomb'! I censor it, because, well, I have no idea the ages of people that read this, and I don't want them to be scarred. Especially if they ask their dad what it meant, and told them that I used it in a story.... Poop. That would suck. And also because, well, seeing as how Stephen Ambrose censors it in a war book, I figured why not? And another 'also' right here... the story is rater 'teen', and I hope to keep it that way. :)**

**3) The baby! Colonel Sink was married, and has three children. I know he was 37-38 around that time, (born in 1905, died 1965), so I just threw a baby in. Uh.... We'll just say that the baby was a 'gift from God (nudge, nudge)'... or a surprise! :D And I have no idea who he was married to, the names of his children, or when he was married. Fanfiction, loves. Fanfiction. :)**

**4) Tumors. I google'd it (should NOT have done that - I'm scarred for life), because I was about to add a description of it, but then realized I was getting queazy just thinking about writing about it. **

**5) Izzie! She's not a full-surgeon yet, and she's awfully young... Those questions (and questions like that) will be answered in future stories.**

**6) Speirs! You may be thinking, "Darn, is she a bad writer, or what?"! Well, as I had mentioned in the previous chapter, though he remained unnamed, he had developed a friendship with Izzie in the hospital, and learned gradually that he could be at ease with her. Friendship, honeys. That's what I gave 'em, and seeing as how he wasn't usually portrayed as a 'friendly' man, I had to use the ol' noggin of mine to get some talk going. Sorry if you didn't think it was fitting of him, but as I explained, he's a friend of hers, and I figured that since he's the platoon leader of Davis and Jason's platoon, he'd know the stories about her and know that he could just sit in silence, or just talk, and it would be fine with her. Again, sorry if you didn't like it... But I HAD to put him in here! **

**6) Joy Toye. I do that a lot. Grrr! Sorry. It's really easy to just type and not notice it... I always mean to write 'Joe Toye'. STUPID RHYMING WORDS. D:**


	10. A Change

**Author's Note:** Hello, all! So sorry I'm late with this... again. I've actually had it written for a while, but I kind of forgot about it. Sorry about that! So, while going through my story files, I found, and thought it'd make a good Halloween present despite that fact that this takes place in November... Heehee. Anywho, I hope you enjoy! Happy Halloween! ...I wish I made this spookier.

What are you guys doing for Halloween?

**Disclaimer: I do not own nor claim to own Band of Brothers or the real men of Easy.**However, I do own Izzie, her weird family, and a just recently, a toothbrush.

The weekend had passed, as well as the numerous surgeries she had performed. Almost everyone had survived to her great joy. Now, the technicians and nurses had all kept their word (after being threatened with a scalpel drenched in human blood), and Colonel Sink and his wife had never heard of anything that went on while they were away. As far at their knowledge went, Charles was much happier than he had been before and bore neither scratch nor bruise on his entire body. Christine was relieved and thankful, of course, and Sink was all the more proud of Izzie for being such a responsible young lady.

Now, as pleasant as that had been, and as many hysterical looks as she had gotten, today did not seem to make her feel at all like a responsible young woman. Not in a good way, at least. Okay, if they knew, she'd feel terrible. Why? Because today was Thanksgiving Day, and Colonel Sink had told the entire camp to rest and feast, and here they were…stuck crawling through a trench after pig liver, after stomach, after intestines, after kidneys, all because Izzie had the bright idea to joke around with Major Strayer the previous morning after hearing the announcement that they would rest and feast.

It was muddy, wet, and cold that morning. Pig guts were strewn across the barbed wire, and the fresh mud didn't help with the smell all that much. Man sweat, mixed with pig guts, mixed with roast turkey from down the road, mixed with the leftovers of the scent of rain was not your best recipe for air freshener. Izzie didn't mind the pig guts, as she was used to seeing and removing far worse from human beings, but she was a little bit rusty on how exactly to make her army-crawl, an _army-crawl_.

"OW!"

She whirled around, seeing Private Edward Tipper clutch his nose in pain, blood beginning to slowly drip down, and immediately knew that the pressure her foot had just felt was _not_a mound of dirt.

"Sorry…" she mumbled as she attempted to continue onward.

Overall, her running had improved immensely, and she was now fair and square with Bill on their running times. Davis and Jason, though she wondered how, had often overheard a conversation, or rather argument, and would in due time take the punishment with her, which was most usually a nice little run up Curahee and then a pleasurable jog down. The three had bonded in ways that they never for a moment thought they could have, ways they thought impossible—even their mother would scream if she had heard of this. They were, in fact, becoming quite _good_ _friends._

"What the hell is this crap!" Guarnere grunted from in front of her. He rolled into the ditch rather gracefully, while Izzie seemed to just land flat on her bum in the mud, pondering how that had even happened. He began pulling something that resembled a squashed something-she-had-removed-from-a-certain-patient-the-other-week off of his boot before continuing.

"Pig innards," Bull replied, about twenty feet away from them.

Guarnere made the most annoyed look as mud splashed on him from Izzie, who was now crawling out of the ditch and onto high ground.

"How 'bout Oregon's brains," he muttered under his breath.

"Damn!" she exclaimed, catching the attention of all the men present, including Major Strayer, as they all knew that Izzie would hardly say 'Hell' even if she were sent to it. "I never knew I had this much in my head…!"

"Me neither, bumpkin," retorted a very grumpy Guarnere, whom Tipper seemed to be quite happy with at the moment.

"You just made my day," Izzie gave a dry, sarcastic smile to the Philadelphia native.

"Shaddup and crawl,"

"Aren't you a lovely gentleman?"

"You ain't crawling!"

And so they continued on this course, as machine gunners fired over their heads, with barbed wires not eighteen inches above the ground, where they crawled. A fine Thanksgiving it was indeed. Mud, blood, pig guts, and bullets whizzing this way and that were nothing compared to Izzie's old memories of a Thanksgiving meal—**no**, this wasn't even _Thanksgiving_.

In the Finnegan household, Thanksgiving was near sacred. Nobody worked, and every single child no matter how far away from home they lived, would come home, feast and drink, and for one of the only times throughout the year, they would enjoy each other's company to the fullest. She remembered the smells of turkey roasting in the oven, of baked cherry pie, of freshly made rolls, and of fine tobacco that her father smoked.

It was one of the only days anyone was allowed to smoke in her house, Christmas being the other day. She remembered trying to smoke his pipe once, and how she instantly regretted that decision. Her brothers would 'bring' (push, shove, pull, carry, drag, etc. etc.) her along with them early in the morning, and they would go hunting for the meal for that following evening: turkey. Of course, to their dismay, Lloyd and Neil would usually be bickering, and the whole hunt would be called off, leaving a very grumpy father who had to now get up, get dressed, find a wild turkey, and kill the darned thing.

She could only remember one successful hunt with her brothers, when Glenn was the mighty turkey-killer, and her other brothers just looked on in shock...

And then, with a quick flip of a fist, Izzie was back on the mini-battlefield, staring at an obviously annoyed Private Christenson.

"Did I kick your nose, too?" she asked quietly, concern filling her eyes. He looked at her strangely, and spoke, very unsure of what she was getting at.

"Pay attention," he said. His tone implied it was more of a question than a statement, and then quickly added jokingly, "you're going to miss out on the roasted turkey!"

"…stupid Izzie," she muttered to herself, remembering the little joke she had casually said to Strayer not five mornings before. She didn't mind the pig guts—heck, she poked things like this for a living!—but she could **not** bear this on Thanksgiving day, so far away from home. If the men found out that this wonderful surprise had been her fault, they'd skin her alive and send her back to square one: _how to earn their trust._

"Yeah, you're kinda looking a little dull today." Hoobler, a normally cheery private, forced a laugh as he passed her. She merely grunted in response as she fell yet again, flat on her bum in a ditch, while the other men tumbled quite gracefully into it.

It was something no one would forget. Thanksgiving Day. Hog Innards. Though they wanted to forget, not a soul in the 2nd battalion could. Major Strayer was a hard, fanatic worker, much less so than Sobel, but all the same he was very enthusiastic about what he did, how did he did it, and when he would do it.

Strayer had set up field exercise after field exercise today that included a series of long marches, and low and behold—the beautifully strewn out, freshly slaughtered, still warm pig guts, including hearts, livers, intestines, lungs, kidneys, and things no man ever knew existed. All on freakin' Thanksgiving Day. It seemed to her that in a way, everyone was thankful for some odd reason. Today showed her just how wonderful her Thanksgiving feasts had been back home, how much she loved not having to do the crawling, marching, and pretending to operate on a perfectly normal man earlier that day in a simulation. Later that day, when the 'pig problem' was over and done with, she and Joe Toye, as well as Guarnere and Talbert, were seen sitting on the front steps of Guarnere's bunk house, enjoying the rest they were getting.

"I'm sorry," She sighed.

"For what? Sending Tipper to the Aid Station? He'll forgive you, Oregon. When we drop wherever it is that they drop us, and you're the only lady friend he's got within a hundred miles of anywhere, he'll forgive you," Floyd cracked a dry smile.

"That's gonna happen…?" her eyes widened upon realization of that being even possible.

"Hey, Izz, look on the bright side of things," Joe began, but was promptly cut off by a very aggravated Guarnere, who was missing turkey more than anything right now.

"Bright? Joe, the sun ain't even out! Even if it was, there are too many damn clouds to see it…"

Izzie looked at Guarnere for a moment with a blank look on her face. Feeling rather tired, and rather at ease with the men that sat before her, she felt a comment coming upon her that she didn't mind letting slip out of her mouth for once.

"Bright side: I won't be the only gal within a hundred miles of anywhere if Guarnere here jumps with us."

Both Talbert and Toye let a small smile make its way to their lips. Guarnere just looked even more annoyed with the world today, decided to just go ahead and take it like a man, and fire back something not worth saying.

"Like I said, Iz, bright side," Joe smirked as he successfully cut Guarnere off, right as he was inhaling the words he was about to spit back out.

The four of them sat on the steps, enjoying the _fresh, clean_ air. It was hardly tainted by the fading scent of pig blood on their OD's, which they had all been too tired to change out of, and they were glad to finally be away from that horrid pit. The autumn air was crisper and more welcome than ever. It rustled the leaves in the dirt, carried new scents of nature and flowers in its wind, and dried the sweat that had worked its way to the surface of their frail skin. The skin had split in some small places, and men being stubborn men, no one complained about the stinging and ache they felt, unless it was necessary.

She smiled as the wind picked up a bit, and the smoke from Talbert and Guarnere's cigarettes became one with the wind, whipping her hair about her face and in all sorts of directions. She always loved the wind. It was always there, but you could never see it. You could feel it, see its affects, but it in itself was unstoppable. It destroyed what it wanted, and gently kissed the skin when it wanted, and stopped when it wanted. On hot days, all it took was a cool breeze to make the world seem so at peace in her mind. She loved the wind. It was her saving grace, she supposed. And as the smoke drifted around her, she breathed it in, knowing that it was fall. She didn't like smoking itself, but she had to admit, cigarette smoke always made her smile on days like these. It meant she wasn't the only one in this universe, as she sometimes felt since working at the hospital.

Something about it was welcoming to her, though she would hardly admit it, and she honestly enjoyed the various scents that would drift through the air as her brothers smoked outside. Back home, her mamma never allowed smoking in the house unless it was through a pipe, and on either Thanksgiving or Christmas day. Other than that, her brothers were stuck smoking outside and smuggling cigarettes from the next town over, which was Joseph, Oregon.

Closing her eyes, she sat in the doorway, leaning on the door frame, while Joe Toye towered above her, Talbert sitting below her, and Guarnere on the same step as her. All of them were smoking now.

"So do you think Sobel's happy? I mean, we're covered in blood, beat dead, and never want to see another piece of dirt again." Skip sat down beside her, still in his OD's as well, smoking a cigarette. She opened an eye and glanced over at him, smiling slightly.

"Yeah, I reckon he's happy." Talbert grunted.

"Giddy as a school girl, I bet." Joe always had to have the last remark.

Guarnere kept quiet for the first time in his life, and focused on taking a long drag from his cigarette. It was almost 19:00, and the lights of the camp were becoming very quickly the only lights they could see. Everyone was exhausted, tired, and grumpy. Strayer had them do a few marches today, when normally it was one or two, and they also did an attack against a defended position, which no one was particularly fond of.

After what seemed like mere seconds of sitting in darkness with her friends, which had evidently been about half an hour, she bade them all goodnight and walked two steps before falling face-flat in the mud puddle. It was the very puddle that she had made a mental note this morning not to step in, but apparently, she had gone and lost that note. She wondered now if she should just stay there. The mud was freezing, yet at some point it became cool and comforting on her aching joints. It was nice to have something so very simple around her once again. Just dirt and rain. Nothing more, nothing less. This whole army was the most complicated thing she had ever been through, especially today.

With a groan, she managed to stand up with the help of a quietly chuckling Joe Toye and a hysterical Skip, to find that she had given all the men something to smile about today. Maybe this was a small grace from God? A smile, even if it was made by using her for a laugh, on a day like this… Well, it just made her smile.

She full-on bear hugged both Joe and Skip as a thank-you gift, covering them both in mud and transferring a bit of pig blood to their clothing. They weren't all that happy about that. Especially when they found their cheeks being squished against the other man's cheek during the hug. She was pushed off and ignored for the rest of the night. Even during the happy, surprising gas alarm that had gone off in the middle of the night, she was still ignored by the five men.

What she didn't expect the next day were more marches and these pleasant little tinned foods. K rations, as she had heard them called earlier. No one could figure out what stew they had, if it was a part of a finger floating around in it, or an actual piece of chicken, or even what color the stew itself was. The candy was long gone by the end of the day, but the crackers, stew, and powdered fruit juice were a different story… Izzie's taste buds had never functioned in her entire life, and they did not decide on functioning during her K ration meal. Her face was as normal as could be, while other faces twisted and contorted in ways she had never thought possible.

And after this whole ordeal had gone over, two full days of nothing but marches, pig intestines, marches, gas alarms, battlefield stimulations, marches, and K rations, it was safe to say that she was the bravest girl in camp. She had endured the Hawg Innard Problem, successfully eaten a whole meal consisting of K rations, survived all of the marches, and as of today, could hold her bladder longer than any other man in Easy. Guarnere himself officially official'd it. That, and she was the _only_ girl in camp.

The first day of December was a bitter day for the whole 2nd battalion. More so for Izzie than the rest of the men, as word had finally reached the war offices that there was an entire family of eleven siblings in the Five-Oh-Six regiment, and she had been parted from seven of her brothers. Glenn had been sent somewhere in the 82nd Airborne Division, Lloyd to the 505th Regiment somewhere; still within the 101st division. Neil and Walter had decided to jump ships from the Paratroopers to the Navy all of a sudden (no pun intended), and Gene had been sent to some division of the 502ndRegiment; Clifford had been replaced by a Major Horton, and had been transferred to the 17th Airborne Division, and Elijah had been sent to the 517th Regiment of the 17th Airborne Division, right under the command of big brother Clifford himself.

He cursed God when he found out. He was promptly smacked on the mouth by Izzie, saying that it was blasphemy. Clifford scoffed and muttered something about thinking he raised Elijah better than that.

The reason for her security in the Five-Oh-Sink was all because of that contract she signed. Apparently, there was something about something, which leads to something else that leads to her staying as they were under-staffed in the field surgeon department, and also she was not in the Army, and therefore had no file in the vast amounts of file rooms that the Army had, so they hardly noticed her. The only thing that they had noticed while quickly scanning over the files, however, was that her initials were J.E.F.F, and they just assumed it was a male.

But now, as morning came, she wished in her heart of hearts that she had been a male and transferred just like her brothers to some other regiment or division... or a different company.

Why?

Colonel Sink had read an article in a magazine proclaiming the greatness of the Japanese army, and just how they had marched 100 miles in 72 hours. As part of his character, he always wanted to beat everyone, to win everything, to be the very best in the ways that were right and fit in his eyes. The 2nd battalion was going to be marching 118 miles in 72 hours, on the first of December—that would be today—with downpouring rain, miserable mud puddles (to Izzie's dismay), some snow, and most importantly… it was freezing. Each man—mortar squad, rifleman, medic, and surgeon—had to be in full gear. That meant machine guns were to be carried, mortars as well, guns, and to Izzie's small joy, her personal medic bag, complete with new blades, handles, and other new toys of hers, as well as a few extra bandages and the like.

It was decided by Sink that the 2nd battalion would be the marchers, as he knew Strayer had trained them the hardest, so he thought, "Why not?"

Of course, all the men were now thinking, "Why, God, why?" in their heads.

"Why, God, why?" Lewis groaned from beside her. She smiled and patted him lightly on the shoulder. It was hard to find some sort of way to comfort the man, but she found a way.

"So we can beat the Japanese's butts, Lew," She grinned.

He seemed to have found a little sense in what she was saying, and moved down the line to be with Bill Guarnere and Edward Tipper. She sighed, once again being alone, but was quickly joined by a medic, Edwin Pepping.

"Hey, Oregon," he smiled sweetly at her, as he always did. "you're looking a little lonely. Are you sure you're feeling up for this whole march? I know you've got a bionic bladder and all, but still… That last march had me a little worried."

"Pep, I'm fine," she placed a firm, yet comforting grip on his shoulder. "I think. I'm, uh, doing a lot better than when I first started, you know? These boots are completely molded to my feet now, and if I'm supposed to be dropped in the middle of nowhere, I've got to have _some_ practice of walking extensively right? Besides, I can't let you guys go off all alone in the snow! I'm going to miss out on all the snowball fights you'll be having!"

She giggled pleasantly, and everyone around her seemed to lighten up a bit. Some cracked smiles at the sound of her laughing voice, others grinned, and for a certain shy red-headed lieutenant: a knowing, shy smile. Ed began chuckling along with her, happy that at least someone could see some small joy in this 118 mile march.

"Yeah, uh, a word to the wise, Finn," Nixon passed her, and called over his shoulder; "don't touch the yellow snow."

She crinkled her nose childishly, imagining it. It was not a pretty sight. Her two brothers from "D" Company came trotting over, each with their hands in their pockets, and jackets zipped up to their chins. You could see the breath leaving their lips, as if they were smoking an invisible cigar. It flowed, and hung in the air, and then just like that, it vanished. Here one second, and gone the next. She always loved that about the winter—everything was to be savored to the very last icicle, as you knew you would never see any of that wonder or delight until next year.

Both of the twins' haircuts had been so short, and the air so crisp and cold, they had to wrap a scarf around their heads and use their helmets to hold it in place to stay warm. Izzie stifled a chuckle upon seeing this, alongside Ed.

"Yeah, yeah, shut up, Goldilocks…" Jason huffed. "And, Pep, you want me to bust you for that porn magazine in your footlocker?"

Edwin's face went snow white, and if he wasn't wearing his OD's, she could have sworn he had just turned invisible. He knew what happened to the last guy who was found with a 'Titter' magazine in his footlocker, and he had steered clear of everything non-army issued since. Jason, as the ranking lieutenant among the group, had every right to bust Edwin, a lowly private, for having anything in his possession that was contraband in the Army.

"What porn magazine?" he asked, almost afraid of the answer.

"Er—Nothing. Never mind. Listen, Ed, can we, uh, steal her from you real quick? You know, family is family after all." Davis smiled slightly, something twinkling behind those grey orbs of his. Jason seemed to know was it was about.

Izzie looked them over, afraid some new catastrophe had befallen a new recruit or replacement, or transfer… Or even Edwin.

"Uh, yeah, sure," Ed looked at both twins skeptically. Mentally making a note to recheck his footlocker, he ran off, leaving the three to their thoughts. Izzie frowned. The twinkle in both Davis' and Jason's eyes grew as they both heard a certain C.O's loud, boisterous voice holler above the roaring crowd,

"Private Pepping, can you tell me what this is?"

"It's a…. er…. It's a pornographic magazine, sir,"

"Correct, private. Can you tell whose footlocker I found this in?"

She could see Edwin close his eyes, shutting out the form and gazes of those around him. Davis and Jason were getting hell from her when this was over.

"I can't say, sir,"

"I don't think the man next to you hid it in your footlocker. Pornography is contraband in the army, Private, and Sergeant Luz knows that now more than ever."

Edwin paused, suddenly red in the face.

"Well, sir, I guess it's mine then, sir!" he shouted, utterly embarrassed in front of the entire 2nd battalion.

All eyes of Easy were on him, and a select few from Dog, and all of them, laughing and chuckling. George Luz was almost guffawing. Edwin Pepping's nature was just like this. He was concerned about other people's well being, and he followed orders almost by the book. It was these things that made him crucial to Easy. He seemed to be what Izzie had described him as earlier this week: half Spina, half Roe, and half Jesus. Jesus being the factor in the whole 'three-halves' making sense part, and not her lack of education, please note.

Frowning, she turned back to her brothers. If it wasn't so cold and soggy out, and if they weren't so tall and strong, she would have punched them both right where they stood. Perhaps, if it were summer, she would have tackled them each to ground in her infamous football tackle, which really was quite handy when you lived with so many brothers. But, instead, she yanked them down by their earlobes to her eye level, and glared deep, deep, down into their pale gray eyes, with a glare so intense, each brother immediately forgot the pain they were in and started laughing even harder.

She switched her gaze from one twin to the other, a smile and giggle hidden behind her stern face, before completely erupting into a giggling fit, joining the rest of the men around her that had seen the scene. She let go of the boys' ear lobes and was now attempting not to fall over from laughing so darn hard. It wasn't the first time they had pulled a prank on the men in her company that she had witnessed. The first time, it was Sobel himself, and they had carefully laid spider eggs in his socks, crawdads in his briefs, and itching powder in his jump suit, all in one night. She had tried so hard not to laugh that time, as well, and managed to somewhat contain herself, but the next time around, she was furious. She thought that the hospital just had a growing need of condoms and whatnot, and sent the order forms in. That next week, she had found that Private Parks had been sent home for having two-hundred condoms in his footlocker. That was how many extra was placed on the order form. Jason says his left ear has never heard anything as well as before that incident. Davis says at convenient times that his hearing comes and goes just like the wind. Izzie swore her throat had never hurt as much as it did after that incident.

The stifled laughter had now deceased, and was replaced by the whisperings and murmurings of the men around her, all containing colorful words of simplicity, and a vulgarity to them.

"Anyways, Izzie, we've got a good-bye gift for you." Jason said as they huddled up in a triangle.

She frowned, and put on the look of utter confusion. Why did they want to give this to her? Why in the _world_ did they want to give this to her? She already had plenty on these back home, although she shared possession and ownership with Neil on them. She didn't see any sense in this random gift. And why had they just said it was a goodbye gift? They were standing clearly right in front of her, would be in the march, and were in no means transferring to any other battalion, regiment, or division, as they would have gotten the notices along with the rest of her brothers. What were they up to?

"I…. I don't think I need a hunting knife, guys," said she, as she gazed at its metallic beauty.

"She doesn't need a hunting knife, Dave. Did you hear that?" Jason turned to his twin.

"Crystal clear, Jason,"

"Now, what are you mentally imagining, Davis?"

"Izzie being attacked, and brutally murdered by a fellow company man. Maybe even a guy from Dog, or Fox. And all of this because she didn't have her hunting knife… Shame, isn't it, Jason?"

"Terrible."

Izzie's face went blank. A blank stare, two frowning twins, and one thing new about this usually familiar scenario: a smile beginning to crack on each of their faces. Before soon, they were all grinning ear to ear, and if Guarnere had anything to say about it, as he was just passing the odd trio, he could have sworn he saw something glimmering in Izzie's eyes. He couldn't put a name on it, or a word on it, but it reminded him of the first time he saw her—that yet unexplained twinkle that had him caught up for those few seconds. What it could be, he had no idea, but he went up to them anyways. It would be about ten minutes before they had to fall into line, so he had time to chat.

"Can you believe this?" he sighed, mainly directing his comment towards Izzie, "And I thought Curahee was hell…."

She smiled gently at him, the twinkle still visible in her eyes.

"Curahee _is_ Hell, Guarnere," she laughed.

"It's kind of like Dante's inferno, Bill. Like the first level, or something," a new voice from a different man, came drifting over the crowd. Izzie looked up and waved him over, smiling her signature, gentle, laughing smile that came so naturally to her.

"Never thought you'd be in to books, Lip," Guarnere smirked. Carwood Lipton came over, scarf wrapped around his head, just like her brothers, hands wrapped around a mug of piping hot hot chocolate. Upon smelling the wonderful scents of warmed milk and cocoa mixed together in a delicious mixture, hot and fresh on a morning like this, she closed her eyes and let her mind wander back to the cold nights of Oregon's fall and winters. She would sit in front of the crackling fire with her little brother, Michael, and her older brothers Glenn and Clifford would be teaching them how to play cards, while her grandpappa would tell story after story of Ireland, while drinking rich, dark hot chocolate. She could just smell the fire, hear it popping and crackling, taste the hot chocolat—

"Are you drooling? Aw, come on, Izzie! He's not even that good looking! No offense, Carwood," Davis exclaimed, waking her up from her day dreaming (sadly). He seemed slightly agitated with her drooling-while-staring-at-Lipton ordeal for some strange reason. Wait. Lipton? Drooling…? _Staring?_ She looked over at her brothers in shock attempting to figure out what had happened and why.

Oh. She realized that even basic training camp was no place for daydreams, but she just couldn't help herself. And there she went again… Drooling, while fantasizing about drinking hot chocolate on a cold, bitter morning like this. How could she learn when there were temptations at every corner? Then again, she didn't want them to contraband hot chocolate from Toccoa, or the army. Snowflake's chance in hell she'd let that happen! On the other side, she wouldn't deprive a grown man on a freezing morning of hot chocolate, either, so she decided to just try and shake it off.

"So how far are we marching again?" Jason asked while glaring at Lipton.

"Doesn't matter. Iz, what d'yah say about our offer?" Davis asked, poking her in the shoulder.

"What offer?"

"Aw, damn it. Toye!" Jason hollered over his shoulder. Joe Toye came jogging over, afraid someone had gone and done something stupid… again. He was the strongest man Izzie had ever known, and that was really saying something. She knew a_lot_ of strong men, and men.

"Sir?"

"Keep an eye on Izzie, or you'll lose your boots and that'll get your weekend pass revoked by Sobel, which will also put you on the top of his hit list. Hear me? Anything happens to her, you'll be a dead man before you know it." Jason, the newly promoted to 2nd lieutenant was very much enjoying the privileges of rank. He knew how to press buttons—it was his life's calling—and by golly, did he do a good job. Joe furrowed his brow in frustration.

He wanted to beat the snot out of this guy, and he would have, too, if Jason had not outranked him, and Sobel was a mere twenty yards away. How could Jason be demanding such obvious actions? Of course he would keep an eye on Izzie. He always did. She was always getting into trouble, and he _could not_ count the fights he had gotten into over something small she did. Bull would usually join him in these fights; he never knew why, though. Maybe he just wanted to stick for a fellow company man? Who knows? All he knew was that keeping an eye on Izzie was a given task no matter what, and that his ribs were still a bit sore from a fight earlier that week with some guys from George Company.

"Yes, sir. Is that all?" he shifted the weight to his right leg, very annoyed that Jason, a reckless dare-devil, was telling him was to do.

More importantly, though, he had to follow his orders, which pissed him off even more. By this time, the whole party was either rolling their eyes or trying to cover their face out of embarrassment. The last one was mainly Izzie. Guarnere, Lipton, and Davis—who was usually there to back Jason up at any given time and vice versa—were all rolling their eyes out of annoyance. Davis because his twin had gotten promoted, and often showed it off whenever possible, such as times like these, Guarnere because he almost felt like he was in Joe's skin; they were always there for Izzie somehow, somewhere, no questions asked. And Lipton, though he tried to hide it, was caught by Izzie, who mouthed a silent 'I'm sorry, he's and idiot' to him, which seemed to make him smile.

As they were being called into line, they all knew that this was not going to be easy, or fun. In fact, the only thing that kept Izzie alive during the first day were schemes of escape, most of which involved the mafia and, for the oddest reason, Shakespeare. Oh, was she going to go mad before the day was over…

**...aaaand how did you like it? Sorry about the mix up on the last chapter - I did something stupid when I submitted, pushed a few buttons, and then thought, "Uh-oh...". Anways, guys, I love your guts!**

**Poll results:**

**1st Place : Ronald Speirs**

**2nd Place: Eugene Roe**

**3rd Place: Buck Compton**

**4th Place: Richard Winters**

**Thank you so much for voting, guys! I know this sounds stupid, but I had THIS poll to narrow down the guys, so the next poll with be with only these four guys, and whomever wins from that will be the heartthrob. Sorry that sounds weird, but it's how I do things, apparently... Anyways, thanks for voting! You made my life ten times easier! I'll start putting in more interactions with those guys in the next chapter C:**

**2) I'm guessing they didn't have hot chocolate in the army back then, but, oh well. I thought it'd be a funny scene. C:**

**Thank you ber1719, and S a i r a h i n i e l for reviewing my last chapter! You guys are the bomb! And, rock on, Dana (my anonymous friend, I'm afraid you're officially known) for the review! I hope she ends up with him, too. Who am I kidding? I hope she ends up with all of them. Not in a creepy, gross way, but y'know... I can't decide. All of them are good men. :)**


	11. Heart Warming Heat

**Author's Note:** I'm back! ...Again! Thank you all for being so supportive of me, and coping with my stupid brain... You guys seriously are the best!

**Disclaimer: I do not own nor claim to own Band of Brothers or the real men of Easy Company.**

It was the end of day one of the dreaded three day, 118 mile march, when she had fallen asleep that night; in her own personal pup tent, she felt even more terrible for her fellow company men and her brothers, as she had been given an extra blanket for the night. They hadn't, and it was freezing_._ She didn't sleep soundly that night, and she knew that she didn't sleep enough. The entire time she was alone, she wanted to be with the men. To hear the snores, the comfort of knowing that she wasn't alone, and, most of all, to be there when they needed her, no questions asked. Her dreams were filled with bizarre events, one even included her jumping off a cliff and into a hot spring, and meeting a vampire mermaid that was after her soul, only to find that it wasn't _her_ the vampire mermaid was after, but Sobel's soul. She promptly stepped aside and let it go past her. More dreams included men in her company dying, men in Jason's company dying, and everyone suffering like never before. She just didn't get that much sleep that night. Every forty-five minutes, she would wake up and then fall back asleep which was unheard of for Izzie. She was the soundest, quickest, and deepest sleeper in her entire battalion, yet even she could not this night find time to actually _sleep_.

The next morning, she never in a million years thought that her equipment—including her canteen, boots, musette bag, and her helmet—would be stuck, frozen solid to the ground. A frost had swept over the hill they had made camp on, and as she drew the blankets closer to her neck as the cold air threatened to take it, someone poked their head in through the flap. She couldn't see who it was, because the sun was exactly behind them, shining right into her eyes. She had to blink a couple of times to see clearly, and even then, she couldn't make out a face.

"Izzie," the calm, concerned and gentle voice of Doc Roe entered her ears, and if she had not been frozen to her cot, she would have jumped up and bear-hugged the man. He was alive! Although, yes, his face was considerably paper-white, and his nose was very pink, but she was still glad to see that he was alive after that frightful night.

"Mornin'," he smiled sweetly, "I'm jus' checkin' in with you. Major Strayer would be gettin' the whole battalion ready, 'cept all our gear is frozen tuh tha ground. Sleep 'lright?"

She grimaced. No. No, she didn't.

"As good as I could, I guess," she gave him a sincere smile. He was always concerned about her health, even though she did enough worrying about everyone for the whole company. Sitting up now, she cringed as the cold air hit her bare neck; Roe looked on with concern. Crouching down into view, he removed his scarf, and handed it to her. A part of her desperately wanted to take it, all warm and fuzzy, but the other part thought he needed it more.

If they had to suffer, at least let them suffer comfortably, was her reasoning. And though, yes, she was a girl, and, yes, she should be treated 'right and kind', but she wouldn't have it like that. At least, not today. Maybe a different day, when they were in civilization, and not out on an improvised camping trip. These were the men that had no choice but to go. These were the men that fell and bled in dirt, mud, and ice. These were the men that had to carry mortars, machine guns, and go in full pack the entire march. She just had her two bags, suspenders to hold to two bags (which were actually very comfy), her helmet, and her canteen. Problem solved.

"Roe, I'll be fine," she smiled, and pushed his scarf back towards him. He shook his head.

"Take it."

"No,"

"**Take. It.**"

"No,"

"Please take it?"

"I can't,"

"Just take it, Izzie."

"Roe_,__**no**_,"

"Why won't you just take it?"

"Because it's cold, you need it, and I can live without it," she frowned at him, shaking her finger at him like a mother would, scolding a babe.

He rolled his eyes and let out a puff of air. It fluttered around him, white as snow, and visible as the veil of a bride, but was gone in a matter of seconds. This was just like last time he tried to get his way. He was cleaning up the aid station back in camp at around twelve o'clock, when she marched in, demanded he go to bed and let her finish up for him, and shook her finger at him, making her argument solid concrete.

"You don't make nothin' easy, Izzie," Roe growled. He looked around to see if anyone was in on the scene, since everyone knew where Izzie was camped because she was the only woman in the entire camp. With her own tent. And an extra blanket.

Afraid he might be the subject of many "How could you be so heartless?", and "She's cold! Why didn't you give her your scarf, man?", he was glad when he saw everyone pre-occupied with watching their equipment thaw. Must be a slow day. Quickly grabbing his scarf back from her, he wrapped it around his neck and hurriedly tucked it back under his jacket, shivering all the way.

She managed to ask in her somewhat sleepy state, "What time is it?"

When she needed to be, she was alert once woken up, and when she felt like it, she was like a cat in the regard that waking her up was not a good idea. This was all as it was because she grew up in a house of ten brothers. Lord knows what might have happened if she wasn't this way.

"Oh-five-thirty."

"Sounds just like Strayer," she managed a small smirk, and fell back onto her make-shift pillow: her musette bag. Everything was just like every other day, except she had no snores to keep her night calm and comforting. Suddenly, the tent flap opened even more, and a gush of cold air swirled around her, making her shiver.

"Finnegan," Major Strayer addressed her as such, seeing as their friendship had eliminated the need for using such formalities of first names; "Time to get up. The equipment is frozen solid to the ground, and no doubt yours is, too. Better get moving if you want to warm up. How're your feet? Swollen?"

"Pretty sore, but not swollen, Sir," she smiled as she sat up, and zipped her jacket up from her collar bone to her jaw line. Crawling out of the tent, she shuddered even more at the cold and shrillness of the air; Oregon was colder than this, but she always had heavier clothes for this weather. Shoving her hands in her pockets, she managed a small, yet very Izzie-like smile, and turned back around to face her two friends.

"How did you sleep, sir?" she asked Major Strayer. He just did this little eye-roll that meant 'not-too-good', grimaced, twitched his upper lip, and shifted his weight from his right leg to his left. _Obviously_not_good_. He had his little habits and way of explaining things to Izzie so that she could understand better, this being one of them.

When he had a remembrance of what his _real_reason for being here was, he spoke up, "I brought you some hot coffee, Finnegan. And some hot… would-be-breakfast-but-looks-like-sludge. Eat up. You've got yourself a full day ahead of you, and the men won't quit groaning. And, by the way, do you got anymore aspirin? Lieutenant Nixon says his head is killing him."

She grinned, an honest, sincere Izzie grin, and took the two tins from him. Oh, will that drinking man never stop?

"I thought I smelled a daydream in a cup," smiling as she took the coffee from Major Strayer, she thanked him. "Thank you, Major! Oh, and um, I think I uh, still have a lot in my bag. Let me go check." She quickly took a sip from the little tin and handed it to Roe, who looked like he needed some warmth in any form he could find. Diving back into her tent, she went to open her musette bag, when she split her finger open on something sharp.

"Oochie!" she grimaced. Well, it could be worse. She could be waking up during an operation on her liver. But she wasn't, and she was quite happy to have a small slit in her finger than a rather large, open wound. Sticking her finger in her mouth for comfort, she smiled. Despite the icky, metallic taste of blood in her mouth, she managed to thank the Heavens that her finger was not frozen solid. But still... that thing stung like a Mother!

"Er—Strayer? My musette bag's straps are maybe, and possibly, a little bit frozen at the moment. Roe, can you hand me that coffee tin?" She reached her arm out of the pup tent, hand open to receive. Reluctantly, Roe gave up his only source of heat, but he figured it was for a greater cause. Uh... Maybe.

Both Strayer and Roe crouched down now, a little bit eager to see what she would do with the coffee. Was it just for a sip to get her brain working, or would she dump it on the bag? It would completely ruin the bag and everything inside. All of those new toys… ruined. Their reason for thinking she would do something like that was simple: she was _Izzie._She did stuff like that all the time. And though they never really heard any solid concrete evidence of it, they had heard that she took Colonel Sink's own son into the operating room while she was watching him for the day. The kid was seven months old.

So, you can imagine their surprise when what they found her doing was just holding the coffee tin to the strap, melting the ice clean off. Though it seemed like an ordinary thing to do, they were a little bit baffled at the sight. It _was_ Izzie; they thought she'd dump it on the bag. Darn it. They wanted to see that…

"Alright," she smiled lightly. "All done. Let's see here… Oh!—not that finger; use your left hand, Izzie, you feather-brain… And—ah-HAH!—there you are!" she pulled out a small packet containing two pills, and tossed it to Strayer. He smiled. This was why they kept her around.

"Thank you, Finnegan," he managed a rough smile before sauntering off towards the rest of Pup Tent City.

Roe looked a bit concerned as he saw velvety-scarlet drops descending on the thin layer of frost inside her tent. Once she popped out, he handed her the coffee cup and what seemed to be breakfast for the day, before gently lifting her left hand up into view. She didn't argue with him. She was going to do a little bandage work on it in a little bit anyway, but, if Roe insisted on doing it for her… Groggy, tired, and fatigued Izzie would **not** complain.

"That don't look too nice," he said after further inspection. She just smiled. It stung in the cold air, but she knew it wouldn't kill her. "What in the world did you do to this poor finger, Izzie? You sliced it right open. Clean cut, too. Haven't been playing with your new blades, have we now?"

She looked away, blushing like a child who had just taken a cookie from the jar when their mother had specifically told them not to.

"It might have been something like that…" she trailed off. One of her blades had slipped out of the case, and torn a hole through her bag while she slept; it was a miracle her face was still intact. Now that she thought about it, she _really_needed to find that blade. And patch that hole. She hated to do it, but she needed to use one of her medical needles and some stitching thread for the job if she didn't want any more accidents today

"Lemme just put a band-aid on her, and you'll be on your way. Moore was complaining about a headache just earlier this morning, an' Christenson wants to see you." Roe looked up in time to see Lieutenant Nixon, groggy and foggy in the head, dragging his feet over to them. He saluted. "Oh, 'llo Lieutenant Nixon," Nixon's hair was a mess, he hadn't shaved, and he looked like he had just rolled out of the tent. But, he actually just did, so who could blame him?

"Morning, Doc, Izzie," he said groggily. Stealing a tin from Izzie's Roe-free hand, he chugged it down, hoping the caffeine would help him out this morning. He groaned. That was _not_ coffee. What the heck was that stuff? It was tasteless, yet rancid and the texture was just gross!

"The hell is this?"

"Uh," Izzie looked into the other tin that was in her hand. "You got the breakfast surprise, Lew. Oochie-!"

"Sorry," Roe said, concentrating on cleaning up her injury. "Almost done, Izzie."

"Okay," she grinned, perking up already. Nixon just looked at her like she was crazy.

"Who says 'oochie'?" Lewis mumbled to himself.

"Anyways, we're moving out in about twenty five, thirty minutes. Equipment's frozen solid to the ground, hence the extra vacation time. Strayer isn't too happy about that, and the good Captain is pretty pissed as hell. And what would have happened to your finger that would take our medic away from smelly, swollen feet, Izzie?" he stole the other tin cup from her hand and replaced it with the first one he had stolen. Sipping it and treasuring it every second, he let out a disgruntled sigh. It just wasn't as good as the stuff back home.

"Frostbite," Roe replied. She just smiled gently, nodding her head in Lewis's direction before the words sunk in.

"Frostbite, huh?" Lew repeated.

"**Frostbite?**" Izzie gaped. What-? How-? But… But… _**What**__-_? How-? Oh, wait, she already thought that. But, she had her hands inside her pocket at all times during the night, and it was the blade at cut her, right? _Right?_ She saw it herself—it was shining, and glistening despite the light not being all that bright, and it had blackberry colored substance on it. How could it _not_ be the scalpel blade? And why in the world was it frostbite? Why did it have to be frostbite? Why….?

"Frostbite," Roe confirmed. "It made the skin extra tender, an' you must a' cut yourself on something sharp. When it's this tender, it splits easily. You should know that, Izzie. Where're your shoot gloves, Izzie? I need you to wear 'em; get your fingers warmed up. It's barely in the frostbite category, but it's pretty damn close. And change the band-aid every—"

"Doc, you know you're talking to a world class surgeon who grew up in cold snow, a hazard house, with a doctor for a father, right? 'Cause I'm pretty sure she knows what she should do... Finn, you _have_ had frostbite before, right?" Lewis raised an eyebrow.

"I've had it about five times growing up… My ears have never been the same, you know," her eyes wide with bewilderment, childishly giggling. Her pale complexion with her rosy cheeks and lips especially made her look like a china doll; bright, grey eyes to complete the look. Her braided hair, messy from sleeping on it, betrayed her into looking like a farm girl. Which was just as it should be. "My papa told me that it's because of my frostbite that hard liquor warms me up. Ain't that the darndest thing, Lew?"

Roe and Nixon both looked at each other.

"Doctor's orders, Lieutenant," Roe bit back a smile as he motioned for Lewis to hand it over.

"Can't you just use some morphine for your pain, Izzie?" Lewis frowned. He was _not_ about to give her any of his valuables.

"I'm not allowed to carry morphine on marches anymore. That's Roe's job."

Lewis smirked, remembering the last time she was doped up on morphine. Ah, good times. Good times. And she wasn't about to live that out, either.

"Well, since you find me so damn attractive," Lewis grinned when he saw the look on Izzie's face, "I guess I could spare a little for the young lady."

He sighed and gave her his precious flask of Vat '69, knowing that even though it would go to a good cause, he would still be losing some of his whiskey. She took a quick, hearty swig from the cold metal flask and gave it back to Lewis; Roe looked on once more in shock as she didn't even wince when it went down. She really was cut out for the army, wasn't she?

As he stood staring off into the darkness, he could barely make out the silhouettes that were in line for chow. The fire light was a welcoming sight by the newly set-up cooking area, emitting waves of warmth and relaxation for the entire battalion as soon as they looked at it. Pup Tent City, newly pitched on the grounds of Oglethorpe University, seemed larger than ever to him. Maybe because it was the fact that they had walked around eighty miles in a period of forty-eight hours, or because they did that with swollen feet and bruised bodies, or even just because when he moved, something somewhere in him—be it his neck or big toe—_**hurt**__._

Normally, he was a very cheery fellow, always righting wrongs with a witty joke, and sometimes even, he _was_ the joke. He hadn't tried all that hard to get here. He was just naturally tough, physically and mentally. He suffered, sure!—but not nearly as much as the other guys had. He endured running up Curahee countless amounts of time, doing night marches, latrine duty, and getting yelled at by some goony from some other company or platoon who just didn't have a sense of humor. He grew up like this, so he was used to it. He grew up wild, brave, and free. And now that he wasn't free, and under the command of someone else almost as intimidating as his own mother, he honestly was beginning to wish he was a girl. They were always under a rule. They always belonged to someone somewhere. When they were kids, they were their parent's little girl; when they were teenagers, they were some jerk's girl; when they were married, they were that bastard's treasure. Of course, they were always a treasure; he could see that now.

He didn't really feel like he was all that "treasured" here in the army. He was just another soldier, under another soldier's command, that could get kicked out for doing almost anything that he wasn't told to do. This really wasn't what he had signed up for.

And back home, he really just didn't get how not seeing a girl's face for two days could really screw up a guy. Here, he got that in about two seconds. Man, he needed to be back in civilization!

"Hey, Davis! C'mon, the chow line's getting longer and longer by the millisecond. Tick tock," his twin called, carrying their newly found best friend on his back. She had almost collapsed out of pure exhaustion from running around so much today. And by running, he meant sprinting. She heard one yelp or a "Gnngh!" come from a guy's throat, and she was over there in a heartbeat, aspirin and canteen bottle in hand and ready for use. Good Lord was he proud to be her brother.

"Davis," Izzie called over her shoulder from her perch on Jason's back. "Do you need an aspirin? I still have a whole ton left in my musette bag, you know! Um, I think, at least. I was handing those little packets out like candy today. I hope I didn't get anyone to OD… Oh, dear! Jason, what happens to army-contracted doctors when they accidently over-dose a patient?"

"Nothing you should worry about, Izzie. You weren't exactly "in the office", so it doesn't count. Unless, _you know_…. They can smell alcohol on your breath," Jason teased.

Everyone in the family was well aware of Izzie's little drinking problem. Heck, even when she was fourteen (which was around the age that this began to set in), their papa would let her have a shot before bed on cold nights, just so she could keep warm. They weren't exactly the wealthiest people on planet earth, and with nine kidlets still in the house, plus themselves to keep warm, they were willing to take advantage of this little quirk in her. They figured out that one shot of whiskey would usually last around six to eight hours, so on this march, she had so far taken four short swigs from Lieutenant Nixon's now famous flask, every three hours.

"What?" Izzie asked, bewildered at Jason's statement. "What are you talking about, Jason? I don't even have an office yet. Um, then again, I don't think I'll ever have an office. Japan isn't exactly ideal for an Irishwoman's presence, and Europe isn't exactly all that… inviting… right now. And I really haven't had all _that_ much whiskey today! Just a few sips to keep me warm,"

"I'm talking about when you're on duty as a _surgeon-in-training_," Jason laughed at her made-up title. "Besides, Izzie, what makes you think they'd make you a full-fledged surgeon. Not when they see that you've OD'd Joe Toye over there, who just so happens to be singing one of my favorite drinking songs. Huh. He's Irish? I thought he was like Italian or something… Weird."

"He seems happy." Izzie said, staring off into the distance where Joe Toye was teaching a group of Dog company soldiers a drinking song.

She tried to stifle a giggle as Ronald Speirs passed by, the oddest look in his eyes, but seeing as she was even too tired to walk, she just let out a large puff of air, sounding something like a longtime smoker taking their last breath.

Davis looked at her.

"What in Sam's hell was that?" he asked, concerned about her health.

She giggled softly, "I think it's my way of telling Jason to hurry up and get in the chow line,"

"Chop chop, man! You heard the girl," Davis scolded, always forgetting to call his twin "lieutenant", or even show him any respect. Then again, not many people did unless Jason threatened them…

In a nearby pup-tent, Izzie could make out two familiar, well-loved voices, whispering amongst themselves.

"They're killin' me, Skip, I'm telling you," Malarkey groaned.

"Hey, cheer up, Malark! Only thirty-eight miles to go,"

"Thirty...?"

"Yeah, buddy. We can do this, alright? I'll even drag-"

"I'll drag you by your ears if you drop out!" Izzie yelled over Jason shoulder, determined to get every Easy Company soldier to Atlanta, whether it was at their leisure or by force.

"You know what, Skip? I've had a change of heart. I think I'll make it to Atlanta."

Jason just grinned, darn proud of his little sister, and started running even faster out of the woods and towards the chow-line. Along with Izzie on his back and Davis running behind them as back up, the trio cut through the entire line, including many hungry, cold officers. One of them was just smiling, as he was finally able to see his men and their little sister getting along for once, and also because for all the running around she did today, she deserved to be at the front of the line. And he bet his life on it that every other man that knew her was thinking the same thing. Lighting a cigarette, he began to watch the scene, amused at how three simple farm kids could be so entertaining.

A few grunts and groans escaped the men's lips as they realized that a _girl_ had just line cut them, when they had been the ones doing all the walking, but that was just out of instinct and an attempt to retain their manliness. Some of them had hearts. And some of them were yelling insults at Davis, because Jason was an officer, and Izzie was a girl, and neither of those could have been yelled at with dignity.

"Aw, geez," one of the cooks for the night groaned. "You all gonna rob me of _my_meal, ya Irish jerks! You couldn't wait in line with the rest of these hungry, over-worked men?"

Jason grinned. "Well, we didn't want our food to get cold, sooo… Pile it on, private! Our only female face in the entire camp needs food to live!"

The private sighed and rolled his eyes at his commanding officer. Sure, it was his commanding officer, but… it was _Jason_. He hardly keeps up with his own rank!

"Hey, hey," Davis frowned. "Mr. Monte, don't roll your eyes at your commanding officer! Now that is just plain rude."

"Heart breaking," Jason narrowed his eyes as he shook his head in disgust. "I thought you cared about your future as a trooper, _Private_ Monte. Tisk, tisk,"

He shrunk back behind the large cooking pot. _Damn officers._

"Hey, Monte?" Izzie peered over her brother's shoulder, and looked Monte straight in the eyes. "Can I have a double serving, pretty, pretty, _pretty_ please? When everyone else has had their grub, I can come back for seconds. Please? 'Cause I am _freezing_!"

Monte sighed. Finally, a reasonable voice! Okay, maybe it was the fact that she was the only girl in this entire division… But, still: she wasn't being a jerk about it. She just earned herself an extra cup of hot sludge from him.

"Here," he sighed, shoveling a large pile of what looked like… more breakfast _sludge_ from earlier today into all their tins. "Just don't tell the Lieutenant, 'lright, Jason? He'll have my head for having favorites, even if you are an officer…"

Jason and Davis both grinned at each other upon hearing the word "favorite" being used on both of them. Izzie, on the other hand, was too busy slumped over on Jason's shoulder to look up and share the moment with them. Monte just grumbled and motioned for the next soldier to come on up for some hot, fresh sludge. Something was burning a hole in his shoulder, but he didn't pay any attention to it. Not when there was food to be had on a cold night!

A boiling hot tin of sludge dropped and splattered on Jason's boot and made him wince loudly in pain. Growling, he looked up at Monte, who was on the other side of the 'kitchen', looking clueless.

"Don't give me that look, young private," Jason scolded.

"Shit, sir," Monte gasped, dropping the can he was about to open. "Don't _you_ give me that look; worry about your damn sister!"

Jason casually glanced over at Izzie, who was slumped over on his back, her body completely limp. She had tried playing dead before, but she could never stop giggling. She was barely breathing now; Jason could hardly feel a breeze on his shoulder—where Izzie's head now lay. Her skin was starting to look porcelain, while her slightly turned-up nose was bright red, and the bags under her eyes did not help her zombie-like appearance.

"Oh, _**fuh–!**_ "

"Cal, get your ass over here!" Davis shouted over his brother's string of profanities, calling over their platoon's medic. Cal came running over diligently, medic bag in hand, not about to disobey his Lieutenant's twin. If there was one thing that you didn't want to do, it was get into trouble with the devil's twin sons. Especially not the one that outranked you.

As Cal knelt down over Izzie's somewhat dead-looking body and began his handy medic work on her, he groaned, and pulled out what looked like a stick from his medic bag. Right. So he was going to poke her with a stick to see if it was alive? How in Sam's Hell did he become a medic!

"What's going on over-" Lewis Nixon cut himself off as he saw just what exactly the medic was working on. "…I thought she could hold her liquor. Jason, I thought you told me she could hold her liquor! This better not be because she got drunk, buddy!"

"You think you're worried about her, asshole?" Jason roared back. How could that SOB be thinking about his reputation during a crisis like this? "But, no… she's sober…"

"Lieutenant Nixon, sir, this ain't a liver problem like what you got…" Davis smirked at Cal's little remark, while Cal grunted as he rolled Izzie's body over so she was now on her back. She had drawn in quite the crowd now, most of it from Dog Company, a few from Fox, and of course, Lewis Nixon of Easy, which automatically meant that a red-headed Eskimo was soon to follow.

"The hell is it, then?" Davis asked, about ready to go ahead and duke the medic. Cal glanced at the body, and watched a bead of sweat fall from her forehead.

"Fever. Hundred and eight,"

Davis and Jason both looked at their little sister, who lay unconscious on a thin layer of snow, with beads of sweat dripping profusely down her forehead and nose. The moment seemed to be lost in time as the number sank into their heads, and even Lewis, who always found some sort of cheeriness or witty joke for almost any occasion, was speechless. Only one word was fit for a situation like this:

"Fudge_._"

**I know, I know... would've been better if I actually spelled the word completely... But I've still got 'the Christmas Spirit' going on for me in the fact that yes, I own 'A Christmas Story', and I love it to DEATH.**

**Um, anyways! I'd like to thank all my darling reviewers for getting me through my two-month long Hiatus!**

**Especially my anonymous reviewers: Katherine, CP2girls, and most especially... PurplePerp! You really gave me some fun, evil ideas to use on Izzie, and really got me back into writing this baby!**

**Of course, my non-anonymous reviewers receive a huge thanks from me for being downright WONDERFUL!**

**To captain ty, ber1719, THE DEADLY ANGEL, AivieEnchanted, S a i r a h i n i e l and Hansolo18-you guys**___**always**_**make my day!**

**...**

**This is beginning to sound like a good-bye letter... Um, just know that it's not. I've got like 80,000,000,000,000 more chapters to write. :D GO ME!**

**-A p r i L C:**


	12. Sin sin, níl aon scéal eile agam!

**Author's Note:**Hello everyone, again! Been what, two months? Crappers. I gotta get back into gear!

**Disclaimer: I do not own nor claim to own Band of Brothers, the men of Easy Company, or anything belonging to HBO.**However, I do own a calendar called 'Nuns Having Fun', and my birthday month (November) has a picture of nuns at a bar, which is epic.

Her eyes were silent. Not a single ounce of confidence glowed, no smile played, and the only light that really reflected off them was the small lantern hanging right above her. The lighting in the tent wasn't particularly bright, but it was bright enough for the medic to see was he was doing.

"Izzie," the medic spoke up, a small undertone of worry in his voice "you wanna tell me what happened now that you're at needle-point?"

A frown made its way to her lips as she remembered the incident that caused her current predicament, and she scrunched her freckled nose to show just _how much_ she didn't want to talk about it. Keeping one eye open and shutting the other tight as he began stitching her up, she glared at the sweet medic, who didn't seem all that fazed by her emotions.

"Do I have to?"

Peppin raised an eyebrow and countered her glare with an obvious look on his face. Opening both eyes now, she sighed.

"Yes," his voice was firm and to the point. Oh, was she bust-_ed_… He was never like this around her, and with the men, he was usually just plain old friendly—no 'if's, 'and's, or 'but's' about it. He was half Roe, half Spina, and half Jesus, after all.

"Are you positive?"

"Cuts don't cut themselves, Izzie,"

"...In a way, I'm glad they don't," she said, rather thoughtfully. "That would hurt a lot. I don't mind pain, like cutting my finger open or something, but I don't like stinging pain. There's a difference, right?"

Peppin, brushing that last comment aside, sighed; "You're telling me why Bull woke me up from my sleep," he said, shaking a finger at her. He was tired, and even _he_ couldn't keep himself from being a groaning soldier, despite Izzie's acclamations of him. He was human, after all, and he highly doubted that if Jesus ever lived, he would be tired, maybe groaning a little, and not too happy after being woken up. He wasn't for religion nor against it—he just had his own ideas about the world, like most people.

"Start from the beginning."

"Edward, that's a real hard subject for me, even as a surgeon-in-training, who should be able to talk about this stuff like it wasn't anything gross. But, I'm not quite sure I want to—Oochies! Careful with that needle," she pouted, sending a playful glare his way before becoming more serious. "You were talking about tonight, huh? Oochies! Needle, Pep. I don't like stinging pain, I told you. Tonight's easier to talk about, but I still don't want to tell you."

Peppin rolled his eyes at her, pulling a bit more on the thread than he should have, which earned a quick squeak from Izzie.

"I've got a needle in my hand that's attached to your cheek, so don't you go around forgetting that now," he said.

"You remember that one time I called you half Jesus?"

"Yes, yes I do, Izzie."

"I take it back,"

"I figured," Peppin grinned. When he was tired, and boy was he tired, he was far from perfect.

Izzie opened both of her eyes and stared at the ceiling of the tent, as if what happened might have been captured on film and was now playing silently on the tent. "Jason threw me on his back once I finished putting up my pup tent, and I think we may' have cut everyone in the chow line, even Major Strayer. I remember seeing him there, and I think he was wearing a crooked smile on that face of his. Peppin?"

"Huh?"

"Can smiles be crooked?"

"Sure can,"

She made a silent 'Oh' with her mouth and continued. "I can't remember all that much for the rest of the night because I was falling asleep on Jason's back. I asked Monte for seconds, so that when every man had gone through, if I could have whatever was left over. And then suddenly, I was on a tropical island, surrounded by pink and purple flamingos…"

Peppin paused in his work before locking eyes with her, "Flamingos?"

"Yes, flamingos," Izzie confirmed with a nod of her head as though it was nothing strange.

"Were they... nice flamingos?" he stopped his needle-work and went to the other side of the tent where his bag was for scissors.

"Actually, one of then looked like Captain Sobel in a tutu. And I'm not too sure whether that's scary or funny—but I know it scared me and made me laugh. And then I woke up," she said, laughing a bit at the memory of the dream.

"I think that'd wake any grown man from his sleep," Peppin mumbled, shaking the thought of Herbert Sobel as a flamingo in a tutu out of his mind. Nasty.

"If you took this whole evening and put it in a pea shell," Izzie remarked, interrupting Peppin's needlework once more, "you could say that I woke up from my dream I was telling you about, bashed Cal in the nose—I think you're fixing up his end of damage done to me right now—and when I was on my way back to my tent…"

"She tripped over Malarkey's aching legs and nearly tore the poor guy in two," Spina finished for her as he casually entered the tent. Peppin glanced at both medic and surgeon and sighed. Idiots did it again...

"Nobody gave him aspirin, did they?"

Izzie shifted uncomfortably on the stretcher, while Spina glanced to the other side. So _that's_ what they forgot… Oops.

Grabbing the needle from Peppin and hopping off the stretcher, she grabbed one of her medical bags off the wet grass and jogged towards the general direction of Malarkey's tent. Peppin didn't need to ask where she was off to, or what she was about to do. He knew already. But he still worried. Who the hell runs off right in the middle of a suture-job?

"**DON'T WORRY, PEPPIN! THIS HAPPENS ALL THE TIME. I'LL BE FINE**," she called over her shoulder.

Somehow, he didn't take all that much comfort in her words.

"Well, Peppin," Spina stood up, obviously satisfied with his entertainment for the night, "I say I've had myself a full day. Singing Irish drinking songs with Joe Toye, marching twenty-two miles, and watching a half-Irish crazy surgeon in training run into the woods, currently attempting to stitch herself up while running… I'm pretty sure that I want to stay in my tent. You should, too. Safety reasons."

Joe Toye didn't have to be told that she had had a rough night last night; five stitches in her forehead, seven on her chin, and about ten on her left hand, as well as the loss of light twinkling in her eyes told him everything he needed to know. Of course another reason why he didn't have to be told about what happened last night was because Peppin and Christenson's pup tent was right beside his, which meant he heard something of what happened. The voices were muffled, but he could make out the overall events of that night. And now that he thought about it, those top five stitches did look a little bit… _off._

Her smile was different, too. More like a 'just be over and done with it' smile than her usual radiant one. It just wasn't that smile he was used to seeing, but he had to give her credit when due, because she had marched this entire day without complaining _or_ taking any morphine. He was a little bit sad about the morphine part, though. He liked her on morphine. Made her more assertive, sassy. Fun to watch.

He would have liked to see her chat it up with Sobel right now, as the man was clearly paranoid about her opinions of not only the company, but also of him. He and Guarnere agreed that they liked to see him squirm. Sobel was a long way away from Izzie, and for that much he was glad. She was aching, her flesh was stinging, and her posture wasn't her usual posture—it was painful. He was glad, in a way, that she was showing signs of being tired, because it made her seem all the more human to him. Made her seem like she was fragile, like a lady should be. Like the lady Sobel thought she was.

It was ridiculous—not five minutes after Sobel would order complete silence during a Friday night march, the longest of their weekly marches, he would suddenly break that order and invite 'Elizabeth' (what appears to be his name for her) out of line and into a hushed conversation with the Dread Pirate Sobel himself. Yeah, they got busted for coughing. Dirty bastard. He could always hear what she was talking about with him. It took every ounce of his Pittsburg steel will not to laugh at how kiss-arse Sobel seemed to be with her. She would talk about tumors, cancerous moles, foot fungi, (appendixes in a particularly louder voice, mainly when near Christenson who could never keep a straight face)—anything she could think of that would disgust the not-so-average male to the point of hurling.

Herbert Sobel was one persistent dirty bastard. He never hurled. Instead he merely looked like he was in severe discomfort, with perhaps a very large ulcer in his stomach, but that never stopped him from trying to make 'Elizabeth' see how shiny his new captain insignias were. Or complimenting her on her hair style that evening. He knew he was crazy, but that was just about what did him over. When you command an entire company, you do not in any circumstance cut slack to yourself for your leisure. You just don't. Especially not in public, and especially not with a girl Joe Toye had been ordered to protect. It needed to be penned in writing, or put into print somehow. He. Hated. Herbert. Sobel. So damn much.

"Oh," her female voice was like music to his ears, and he glanced down to the weary 'surgeon in training' that walked beside him. "I just finished the math, Joe! Five more miles!" she declared triumphantly, a wide grin spread ear-to-ear on her face. It was her smile. Her genuine, radiant, loving smile. The one everyone had come to love. Sure, other women had pretty smiles, lively faces, and maybe even grey eyes—but this girl in front of him was full of life, wild youth, and naivety. The whole 'I-have-ten-brothers' was just the icing on the cake for the boys. She hardly even noticed when they burped at the table, but if it was loud enough, she would say a number from one to ten, like a judge.

He smiled back at her with nearly half the joy, a small ounce of jealousy filling his heart.

"I envy you," he said quietly. Out of all the things they had ever talked about or shared, she hardly knew a thing about his past. He supposed he might as well enlighten her a bit; he had nothing else to do.

"What?" she asked in surprise, her eyes twinkling with curiosity. Joe Toye, envy her? _Joe Toye_ envied Izzie. What the heck was there to be envious about?

"You had an education," was his simple reply. He never wanted to waste words, or go into any more detail than needed to get his point across.

"Didn't you?"

"'Till I was fifteen," he said, letting a softer side shine through his eyes. "My dad told me when I was fifteen that I had two choices: be a cop, or be a coal miner. Said I was too young to be a cop, so he sent me to the coal mines."

"I was sixteen," she said, her voice low. "My brothers would whine about all these exams they got to take, and I never got that. My dad pulled me out of school when he decided he wanted me to be useful, to save lives. Told me I was his only daughter, and that he wanted me to be someone, and not just 'that Finnegan Farm girl'. He got that enough with my brothers—he didn't want it for me."

"But you got schooling after that," Joe replied upon hearing this new history. Izzie shook her head.

"I walked into my dad's office when I was twelve, told him I was bored, and he handed me an anatomy book," she lifted her finger and began shaking it, as if to imitate her father at the time, "He told me, he says, 'You've got ten brothers, and you're bored? Read this, and don't come back until you're done,' so I did. And even with all those big words, I got the main point of it all. I read all my dad's medical books, and I only understood what was being said 'cause he'd talk about it so much to me. But that was it. He pulled me out of school when I was sixteen to study medicine. I can't recite my multiplication table, or name the person who wrote all those classical plays from the 1500's, where they speak all fancy."

"Shakespeare," Joe supplied, feeling damn smart right now. He liked her even when she was off her morphine. This was true Irish-bonding.

"That's a funny name," she laughed. "But I can't speak fancy like him. My brothers can—they've all read Spearshake's plays, and written papers on them. The only big words I know… well, they're diseases and medical terms. I learned them from my dad. They're no good when I want to get a point across to a non-doctor person. And the only math I know is anything to do with medicine doses… You sure you didn't get any more schooling than me, Joe? I got held back a few years, 'cause Davis and Jason kept feeding my homework to the cows."

"I was fifteen," his silent eyes grew softer, "and I had football coaches drooling all over me. My dad said no. I was going to be a coal miner, and that was that. Funny," he let out a small chuckle; Izzie looked up at his towering figure. "I 'spose I've got more education than you, but your dad's a hell of a lot different than mine."

"Yeah," she knew that Joe wasn't a sentimental guy, and she supposed that all this chit-chat was part of the tiredness in him. "But I think in the end, Joe, we're both just terribly Irish kids who can't hold a note. And I think that it's important to have someone like that in your life."

They both continued to walk on in silence, both pondering the words she had just said. She sounded smart, in an uneducated way. But Joe had a question.

"For the sake of being Irish, I can be completely honest right now and not be slapped?" Joe asked.

"I guess,"

"You need to shower."

"You_just_ noticed?" Petty, a private-class soldier growled. "Everyone here needs a damn shower. I swear, I think something's growin' in my—"

"Hell, shut it, Petty. Not when there's a broad around!"

"You remember that I had to give Sergeant Evans his physical, right, Toye?" Izzie asked nonchalantly.

"Hah," Petty laughed. No one liked Sergeant Evans—he was Sobel's right hand man and a torture extraordinaire. "Yeah, you probably seen horrors that even this war won't bring us."

The men within ear-shot of the conversation all let out a quiet chuckle. It was like high school, to be honest, with Sobel being the mean teacher that everyone hated and that everyone had tried spitting spit-balls at when his back was turned. And Sergeant Evans was the goody-goody, secretly evil student, who loved kissing. And he liked kissing in many different ways: kissing up, kissing arse...

"Oh, speaking of the oncoming war," Izzie perked up, and turned to Joe once again for conversation. "Remember what I taught you for when we get deployed, and when we might not have toilet paper?"

"_Rule number seven of Outdoor Irish Adventures,"_ he recited faithfully, "'_Leaves of three, let it be. If it's hairy it's a berry. If it's shiny, watch your hiney.'_ At least, according to Izzie Finnegan, half-Irishwoman, surgeon in training, and expert strawberry hunter."

"I'm _darn_ good at finding strawberry patches, thank you very much, Joe," she said, grinning from ear-to-ear.

They talked more, switching stories, drinking songs, family stories... anything they could think of to pass the time. Peppin, being right next to her, would chime in every now and then, and even spilled the beans on his dad.

"He wanted to become a priest," he said. "Grandma always wanted one of her boys to be a priest—she's still pissed as hell about it. So my dad went to seminary, about half way-through, World War One started. He joined the army and started shooting people instead."

This earned a loud, lively laugh from Izzie, who recalled the days when Clifford had wanted to become a priest. Of all the careers he could have chosen to flake out on, it was the priesthood. All of them knowing where he was now, they laughed. Mainly because he was now a Lieutenant Colonel, and also because he had himself his very own broad, named Anela. Dark brown hair, big brown eyes, lovely lips, tan skin, and did they forget to mention the fact that he was in Pearl Harbor, Hawaii, mending some loose ends? And that she was a local? And that she was competing (without knowledge) with Guarnere's Frannie, whom he had a picture of in a grass skirt that he kept on himself 24/7? Yup. _That_ Clifford Emmett Finnegan. The big brother of Izzie Finnegan. That one.

"Hey, Izz, what _is_ your dear older brother up to in Hawaii? 'Side from Anela's grass skirt," Cal asked as she landed next to him in line. She had been migrating throughout the battalion, checking up on everyone despite her own discomfort. It hurt like heck, she would admit, but if she hurt like this, she figured that the boys around her must hurt even more, having to carry heavy guns and equipment.

"It ain't confidential," Davis remarked, fatigued to the point of closing his eyes.

"No," Izzie replied, "it's not. He's supposed to be tracking down some fella named Gene Smith."

"Gene Smith? Of all the names… And the brass is serious about that? I thought Cliff was..."

"Oh, yes," she confirmed with a nod of her head, "he was. But they're serious about this photographer man very much more than his old, classified job. Mr. Smith was reported to have been photographing the bombing of Pearl Harbor, so of course their first reaction should be to track him down and confiscate the rolls of film, their only reason being because they can."

"Sometimes, I wonder if Cliff likes being used," Davis mused aloud. Izzie smiled lightly in agreement. She loved her older brother; he was her best friend. There was no changing that. But sometimes, he would be that best friend that she loved, but just didn't get. The army was his life. Where they went, he followed. That's always how it's been. Always how it's going to be. He and Izzie wrote each other, sure!—but they seldom ever saw each other anymore. It hurt at times, she wouldn't lie, but he was doing what made him happy, what God gave him a passion for. She was fine with that.

The time came for her to switch companies again, as she heard a muffled groan coming from the direction of Easy. Bidding her brother and medic-friend good-bye, she began making her way towards Easy Company again, but in particular, towards Bull and George Luz. She hadn't seen them at all this fine morning, and quite frankly, she missed them. As she was walking, she began hearing faint sounds of music, wafting through the air. Dismissing it as perhaps a reaction from her last sip of whiskey, she kept walking, and in her head, she could swear that the music was beginning to become louder and louder. Pounding in her head, her heart… the very earth she walked on. Man, that was one strong sip of whiskey!

She spotted Bull and Luz in no time, but by the time she got to them, she noticed that she was not the only female presence among the men. As she made sense of the scene, her head stopped spinning.

The road they were one was lined with cheering women, men, girls, and boys, who were all waving their small America flags in the air, and smiling. How she didn't notice this was beyond herself, and she chose to simply go with the flow. She saw that the men of 2nd Battalian suddenly stood up straight, though not all at the same time. But she saw their faces; it was unmistakable. They didn't feel their pain, didn't remember they were tired—all they knew was that they had almost made it. Peach Tree Street, she had been told, would be the epicenter of their success.

But she didn't really have time to remember correctly how far in that would be, as she was suddenly whisked off her feet, and plopped onto the strong, sturdy shoulders of some man in a jumpsuit with blonde hair.

She had caught glimpse of a cigar. "Bull?"

He looked up at her and sent her a cheeky wink. They had almost made it.

"Enjoy the view, Oregon," he said, blowing out a puff of his cigar smoke. And she did. Oh, did she enjoy the view. There were people lining the streets as far as her eyes could see, which, being on top of Bull's shoulders and all was a very long way until she could no longer see, and she had never heard anything so loud and wonderful in her life before. There was a band playing, and along with the cheers of the people of town, she was beginning to think that this march had been purgatory, she had died shortly before, and that this was heaven.

**Please tell me what you think! I love getting critiques/reviews-it fuels my writing. Ideas are ALWAYS welcome. My anonymous reviewers, many thanks to you for your ideas! (Finelane86, sorry 'bout that reply. I was really happy.) And, also, my non-anonymous viewers! I just can't get over the fact that you guys like this story... It makes me feel loved. 3**

**Notes:**

**1) THE POLL! Ya'll voted, and dude, I soooo didn't expect the final result. Thought it was gonna one of the other four, but noooo... it wasn't. Of course, she'll still have some romantic moments with them, but in the end... that's when you'll find out who won the poll. -giggle- I'm so evil... :D**

**2) The name of this chapter was purely for funsies. "Sin sin, níl aon scéal eile agam" means, 'That's all, I don't have any other story' in Gaelic. I do have more story. I promise.**


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